


People Live Here

by itsfnickingawesomeness



Series: Crimson Riot Verse [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Punk, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Steve Rogers, Based on a Real Band, Drug Addiction, M/M, Musician Bucky Barnes, Overdosing, Piercings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Recreational Drug Use, Rise Against - Freeform, Suicidal Thoughts, Tattoos, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, temporary break-up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 02:13:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 46,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11864508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsfnickingawesomeness/pseuds/itsfnickingawesomeness
Summary: May you be in Heaven before the Devil knows you’re dead.May these winds be always at your back.‘Cause when we’re all just ghosts,and the madness overtakes us,we will look at the ashesand say, “People lived here.”When Steve meets the singer of Crimson Riot, on whom he may or may not be harboring a years long crush, and gets offered a job, Steve thinks it’s a dream come true. Getting paid to tour with his favorite band AND create art? It’ll just take some time to get used to the rockstar lifestyle. But as he gets to know James “Bucky” Barnes, and sees what’s underneath the drugs and the cocky attitude, he gives himself a new job: help Bucky before it’s too late.Done for the 2017 Stucky Big Bang.





	1. Satellite

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to take this time to thank everyone who made this possible!
> 
> -My fabulous and wonderful artist Susan (@starmaki on Tumblr) for the amazing banner art, concert poster, and Bucky artwork <3  
> -My dear friend Surabi, without whom I would have had no creative ideas for this story nor any correct grammar. She's my go-to beta reader.  
> -The band Rise Against, who writes such powerful and beautiful music. I don't own any of the lyrics in this story- go look up their music!
> 
> Dedicated to my best friend Molly; I wouldn't be here today without her love and friendship. Thank you for your advice, listening ears, hilarious jokes, and for reintroducing me to my love for Rise Against and going with me to their concert. I love you <3
> 
> Also- a note. This story has some time jumps between chapters, and moves kind of fast at some points. This is because I didn't have enough time to write all of the extra band bonding, relationship fluff, and- of course- smut. Fear not- extra tidbits will be coming soon to fill in the gaps and develop the characters!
> 
> Fic title is from my favorite Rise Against song "People Live Here".

 

 

**June 13 th\- Wantagh, New York**

Excitement thrummed through Steve’s veins as he ran around his room, getting ready to leave for the Crimson Riot concert. Their music played through his phone’s speaker, and Steve hummed along to himself as he finished putting the piercings back in after his shower- a gage in each ear, an industrial bar in the left ear, three studs in the right cartilage, and a small stud in his nose. He raked his hands through the long hair on the top of his head, briefly noting he needed to get the undercut touched up. Combat boots, black cargo shorts, and an old Crimson Riot tank top completed the look, and Steve huffed as he examined himself in the mirror. Same old bony limbs, thin face, and spiraling watercolor sleeve tattoos as usual; he was as good as he was gonna get.

 

Steve decisively turned away from the mirror and shoved his phone and wallet in his pockets. He practically jumped down the stairs, yelling out his goodbyes to his roommate Sam as he grabbed his motorcycle helmet and keys by the front door. The bike ride into the city to the concert venue seemed to take forever, and once he parked- an hour early so as to reach the front of the line- the wait for the gates _did_ take forever. By the time he’d gotten inside, almost three and a half hours after he’d left home, Steve was practically shaking with excitement. This was his fifth time seeing Crimson Riot live, as he saw them every time they came into New York, but the euphoric feeling before one of their concerts never faded.

 

His small stature did help him squeeze towards the front of the GA Pit, and he situated himself only a couple people behind the gates, a mere twelve feet from the stage. He waited impatiently through the two opening acts, nodding his head but not really feeling the music. But finally, an hour and a half later, the lights dimmed for a final time, and Steve found himself screaming at the top of his lungs along with the rest of the crowd as the band finally came on stage. He then lost himself in the music, the base thudding in his breastbone and the melodies almost blowing his hearing aids out. It was _perfect_ , and the first half of the concert flew by in flashing lights, shouted lyrics, and thrashing bodies.

 

As the synthesizer opening to “[Satellite](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6nQCxwneUwA)” started, even though he had already done so for every single song so far, Steve cheered and clapped as he shouted the words out along with the band. This song was one of his favorites- though it wasn’t like there were any songs that he _didn’t_ like. The song has a great transition between the opening and the chorus, and got his heart pumping like few other songs. Steve’s voice crescendoed along with the crowd’s until the drummer, Clint, abruptly started beating his drums, the guitar screeching out from its mellow chords and the song picking up in tempo.

 

_That’s why we won't back down,_

_we won't run and hide._

_Yeah ‘cause these are the things that we can't deny._

_I'm passing over you like a satellite,_

_so catch me if I fall._

_That's why you stick to your game plans and party lights,_

_but at night we're perspiring by candlelight._

_We are the orphans of the American dreams_

_so shine your light on me._

 

The energy that blasted over the crowd coursed through Steve’s veins and made his heart pound, as frail as it was. He shouted the lyrics along with the other concert-goers, jumping up and down, bumping into and careening between people who were doing the same. Steve didn’t mind shelling out an extra forty or so bucks for pit tickets; even though he was probably actually in danger from getting crushed or stepped on, it was totally worth it to be that close to the stage and have the true mosh pit experience.

 

He could also experience lead singer James Barnes, screaming into the microphone as his hands flew over his guitar. He had taken his shirt off five songs ago, and now that they were two thirds done with the concert, he was completely covered in sweat, long brown hair wild and sticking to his neck. The lack of clothing displayed all of the tattoos on his upper body: a large biomechanic tattoo on his right torso opening his skin to reveal gears and silver rods, the silhouettes of trees and mountains around his right forearm, the logo of his old Army squad over his heart, skeletal wings on his shoulder blades, numerous quotes and names in various scripts or sizes, and to finish them all off a full sleeve of metal plates on his left arm with a bright red star on his bicep. The lighting glinted off of piercings, shining in both his ears and cartilage, his nipples, and when he opened his mouth _just_ right, his tongue. He seemed powerful and strong, and Steve couldn’t help but focus his attention on him, mouthing along as he watched him sing.

 

God, he loved concerts. Not just for the music, or the unfairly attractive band members, but because of what it stood for. Every single person in his concert arena, upwards of a thousand people, could find one thing in common with each other. Music was a way for people to come together and share emotions and experiences in ways that would otherwise be impossible. Nothing was more beautiful to Steve than seeing an entire arena filled with swaying bodies and moving lights, and hearing people all singing to the same tune. It filled his heart like nothing else did.

 

His happy thoughts were interrupted when he heard a sharp shout and felt people bump into his front. Moving his attention down from the stage, he saw in front of him a Latina woman and a white guy talking, or arguing, the woman crossing her arms and scowling heavily. Still nodding his head to the music, Steve frowned, watching them for a moment. The guy reached out a hand and wrapped it around the girl's bicep, and she yanked it out of his grasp, glaring and yelling something at him that Steve couldn't hear. Furrowing his brow, Steve pushed through a couple of people, reaching the arguing pair.

 

“C’mooon, I bough’ you a beer earlier, an’ now you won’ even dance with me?” the guy prodded, trying to look charming by grinning, but coming off leery instead. He looked a little unsteady on his feet, swaying a bit.

 

The woman scoffed, tossing her thick black curls. “I never asked for it, you basically threw it at me. Also, _I’m not straight._ Get a life, _chico_.”

 

The guy opened his mouth, looking angry, and Steve jumped in before he could say anything else. “Is there a problem here?” The woman glanced at him and raised a brow, but the guy gave Steve a once over and outright laughed.

 

“There will be if you don’ butt out of our business, runt,” he replied, eyes narrowed.

 

Steve clenched his fists, distantly noting the end of “Satellite”, and glared up at the other, much bigger, guy. “It’s my business if you're harassin’ this young lady here.”

 

The guy sniggered. “I'm gonna harass _you_ if you don't step off.” His hands were already clenching into fists, veins standing out on his forearm.

 

“Make me.” As soon as the words left Steve's lips, the guy swung, and though Steve managed to weave out of the way of the worst of it, the shot just barely caught him on the cheekbone, whipping his head around. Fingers briefly brushing against an already forming bruise, Steve then swung back, catching the guy on the chin, which seemed to surprise him. They each managed to get two more punches in before Security was hustling over, pulling them apart. Steve could almost feel relieved, because from those last two shots- one to the other cheek and one to the gut- he wasn’t feeling so rock-steady anymore.

 

The girl touched his shoulder as the security guard painfully bent Steve’s left arm back behind him to the middle of his back. “My girl and I totally coulda handled it… but thanks, princess,” the woman said, gesturing behind her. An Asian girl with a long ponytail and purple sunglasses on her head gave Steve a wink and a thumbs up. Steve gave them a slightly bloody smile and a weak salute in return before the security guard grabbed his other hand and brought it behind his back.

 

It was only then that Steve realized there hadn't been another song after the previous one ended, that all he could hear was the chatter of the crowd, with no music. He looked up towards the stage, mouth dropping open when he saw that James Barnes' focus was on nothing other than Steve himself. “What's goin’ on down there?” James' Brooklyn drawl sounded through the microphone, voice hoarse after singing for over an hour straight, slight grin on his tanned face. The crowd in the pit who had seen the fight, and perhaps some of the people in the stands who had gotten a bird’s eye view of it, were watching avidly. Everyone else who didn’t know what was going on was craning their necks to see what had stopped the concert.

 

“Just some idiots making trouble,” the security guy restraining Mr. “I Don't Respect Women” called back up, wrapping a pair of handcuffs around the guy’s wrists.

 

Steve scoffed indignantly. “Not true! He was harassin’ that lady so I told him to step off. He swung first.” Steve had meant it as a retort to the guards' untrue assessment, but then he heard James Barnes and his trademark throaty chuckle, and Steve flushed to know that the singer could hear him, since they were so close to the stage. Of all the ways to meet one of his idols….

 

James shook his head, still speaking into the microphone. “This little guy up here, pickin’ fights with bigger guys, was standin’ up for someone else. Now I don't think that's somethin’ that should be punished, huh guys?” He directed his question towards the audience, who cheered back at him wordlessly, some of them surely not even knowing what was going on. Steve couldn't even find it in himself to be too angry right now about the “little guy” comment; never in his life had he been the center of so much attention. James nodded in approval and grinned crookedly, and he looked back directly at Steve as he said, “Let him go, give ‘im a VIP pass. I wanna see him backstage after this.” Steve could see Natasha, the other guitarist, rolling her eyes, as if this was something James did often, and she was exasperatedly fond of him.

 

Steve simply stared at James. This could _not_ be happening. Steve was in a dream. In a moment he would wake up, it would be the night before the concert, and he would be back in his own bed in Sam's and his apartment, because this was in no way his real life. He could only comply warily as his guard huffed and dropped Steve’s arms, fishing in his pocket and handing Steve a little lanyard that had a VIP sticker hanging from it. Steve took it with numb hands, barely hearing the vitriol that was being spewed his way by the other guy, who was now being dragged out of the pit by both security guards.

 

James nodded once. “Now that that's settled... let's move on to our last few songs.” The crowd roared in approval, and people around Steve either gave him pats on the back or cursed him out for his good luck. Steve was still in a daze, and he didn't think he could even name what songs they played after that if anyone asked him about the concert. He stared at the letters “VIP”, simultaneously in disbelief and pure, blind panic. In an absurd thought, he realized he was in trashy, ripped up cargo shorts, a tank top that had the band's logo splashed across it, and he didn't even have his best piercings in.

 

Shaking his head roughly, Steve scoffed at himself. It didn't matter what he was wearing, he was going to get to talk to James fuckin' Barnes, one of the greatest musicians of all time! And so what if Steve had harbored a not-so-little-crush on him since he had first seem them live in concert four years ago.... Steve would be cool. He wouldn't blow this opportunity. He’d… he’d praise their music, tell James how much it meant to him. Then he would ask for an autograph, _maybe_ a picture, and then run home to completely freak out in peace and quiet. Yea, that sounded like a plan.

 

Steve’s worrying just meant that the end of the concert came much quicker than expected, the band reemerging to do two more songs as an encore. Steve awkwardly looked around the front of the pit towards the security line, not sure where he was supposed to go to get backstage. Was there a special password? A secret tunnel? A limo? Just as he was about to start knocking on all of the security gates, a woman with a headpiece and her brown hair in a severe bun intercepted Steve. Brandishing her clipboard like a weapon, she asked, “You the little guy that Barnes gave VIP access to?”

 

“Uh….” Steve stammered, thrown off by her intimidating demeanor. “Y-yea. That was me,” choosing not to lay into the stern looking woman for calling him ‘little guy’. After an awkward moment, he held up the lanyard that the security guy had given him. Her eyes flicked critically over him, before she gave a curt nod. Turning on the spot, she started walking toward the side of the stage, gesturing for Steve to follow. He scurried after her, heart pounding twice as hard now that this was really happening. In a passing thought, he hoped that this isn’t what finally did his shitty heart in.

 

“I’m Maria Hill, by the way, head of security and PR,” she tossed back over her shoulder. Steve nodded and introduced himself, but he wasn’t sure she heard him. Hill took him around the stage, through the Stage Door, down a hallway behind it, through a series of twists and turns, and finally stopped at a door simply marked “Barnes”. She abruptly turned again, making Steve skid to a halt. “I need to check your person for weapons or anything that could be used for harm,” she said, her face and tone brooking no argument.

 

Swallowing hard, Steve nodded, allowing her to pat him down and search his pockets. Satisfied with what she found, or didn’t find, she backed up a step, rapping on the door. “Barnes, your guest is here.” A few moments after Hill called out, the door opened, revealing James Barnes himself. He was now wearing a shirt, Steve noted with slight disappointment, and his hair had been swept back into a slightly more controlled bun.

 

Smiling brightly at Steve, stunning him for a moment, Barnes waved at Hill. “Thanks, Maria, you can go now.” Rolling her eyes, Hill did just that, striding off down the hallway to do what must be countless other tasks. Steve didn’t realize he’d been awkwardly frozen for a good thirty seconds until Barnes prompted, “So, you wanna come in, or just stand out there?”

 

Shaking his head, Steve managed a smile back up at him. “Yes, sorry, yea I’d love to.” Barnes stepped back and opened the door more, still grinning at Steve. “I wanted to… to thank you; you didn’t have to do this,” Steve continued as he observed his surroundings. It was a modestly sized dressing room, with some counter space, a mini fridge, a couple of chairs, and some overnight bags dumped in the corner. He finished his peering and looked back to find the singer staring at him, making Steve’s ears heat up.

 

Barnes _pff_ ed, flapping his hand. “I can do whatever I want, an’ I appreciate how you stood up for that girl, ….”

 

Steve started, realizing he still hadn’t officially introduced himself. Wiping his no-doubt sweaty palm against his shorts, he reached out a hand. “I’m Steve, Steve Rogers,” he paused, then unable to help it he added, “the _little_ guy,” with a raised eyebrow.

 

Lips tilting up slightly, the other man shook his hand. “James Barnes, but my friends call me Bucky.” That gave Steve a little thrill on the inside, to be on a _nickname_ basis with a famous musician. “And, sorry man, but ‘specially from up on stage that guy looked like… twice your size.” Giving him an obvious once over, a smirk on his face, Bucky said, “Look, I gotta ask, an’ I don’t mean to be offensive or nothin’, but-”

 

Steve sighed, cutting him off. “I’m 23.”

 

Bucky frowned and asked, looking surprised, “How did you-”

 

Waving his hand, Steve replied, “Believe me, you ain’t the first to ask. Sometimes I gotta show them my ID just to get in the place.” It was annoying as hell, but Steve had long come to terms with the fact that he was probably done growing, and that if he didn’t start accepting it, he would only give himself more headaches and anger issues.

 

“Huh. I see.” His smirk became that much sharper, teeth appearing to bite at his lips, and something flickered in Bucky’s eyes; it made Steve’s insides flip over in the best way. But Bucky just shrugged, crossing the room to the mini-fridge in the corner and grabbing a water bottle. He lifted an eyebrow and held one out to Steve, but Steve was so nervous that he declined- he’d probably just spill it all over the place. Shrugging again, Bucky took a swig from the bottle and jerked his head at the chairs sitting in the middle of the room. Steve took the closest one and Bucky sat across from him, and there was silence for a moment before Bucky broke it. “So… how’d you like the concert? Besides getting your face beaten in, of course,” he asked, leaning back in his chair and toying with the neck of his water bottle.

 

Steve resolutely refused to look at those long fingers wrapping around the top of the bottle, instead opting to scowl at the musician. “I didn’t ‘get my face beaten in’, it was only two punches! I had ‘im on the ropes.” Steve ignored Bucky’s flippant _Of course ya did_ , continuing, “But the concert was good. Great. Amazing, actually. As per usual.” Steve winced and closed his eyes for a second, sighing at his chronic foot in mouth.

 

Bucky didn’t seem to notice or care, giving Steve a soft smile. “You a regular customer?”

 

Flushing only a bit, Steve replied, “Kinda. I’ve been followin’ you guys since you first started out, in like 2011. I’ve been to every single New York show.” He hoped that that didn’t sound too creepy… he didn’t want Bucky to think he was some obsessive, stalker groupie for the band.

 

But Bucky just blinked, looking taken aback for a second. It was the first time Steve had seen anything other than smugness or mischief on his face; Steve felt a bit of pride to have thrown him. “That’s… that’s commitment, right there.” Now _Bucky_ looked like he was blushing, two high points of color on his cheeks as he brought his gaze back down to the water bottle in his hand.

_Well, go big or go home_ , Steve thought. Inhaling, he said, “Yea, I’m a… pretty big fan, I guess. Your music, uh… it helped me a lot. You guys came around when… well, my mom’d just been diagnosed with cancer, a lot of my health problems started getting’ worse, I was movin’ away from home to go to college….” Clearing his throat and continuing to avoid eye contact, Steve finished, “Anyway, listenin’ to your band was one’a the things that got me through all of that, so, um… thanks.”

 

Bucky’s gray-blue gaze was back on Steve, his facial expression hard to read when Steve glanced up; he couldn’t tell if it was awe, embarrassment, or just pity. Steve blushed a bit more at the scrutiny, and after the longest thirty seconds of his life, Bucky cracked a small grin. “You’re welcome. I’m glad we could help. Thanks for listenin’ to us, and for sharin’ that with me.” Though his grin was his usual lop-sided and cocky one, his voice was soft and sincere. “That’s why I wanted ta get into music, to help people li- people who needed it.”

 

Steve nodded, ignoring Bucky’s awkward backtrack and the loss of eye contact. “An’ I think you guys are the best at that. Seriously, your music’s really powerful an’ full of emotions- no one comes away unaffected.” Steve was aware that he was dangerously close to rambling, but he couldn’t help it, wanting to heap praise upon Bucky, to make him realize the enormity of what he was doing.

 

Bucky was _definitely_ blushing now, even if it was only slightly. “Thank you. We try,” he mumbled, though his lips were ticking upward in a grin. Steve simply smiled back, happy that his praise seemed to honestly touch Bucky. “But seriously,” Bucky went on, voice stronger now, “you followed us for that long? Are we your favorite band?” He wiggled his eyebrows, showing that he was joking.

 

Chuckling, Steve nodded, answering his teasing truthfully. “Yea, what can I say, I’m loyal to a fault. I’d say you’re my favorite band.” Honesty was what Steve knew best, especially because he might love seeing Bucky blush more than he’d like to admit.

 

Bucky smirked and shook his head slightly. “You sure are somethin’.” Looking Steve up and down once more, making Steve shiver slightly, he asked, “So what do y’do? Go to school, or anythin’ like that?”

 

Shrugging, Steve replied, “Not really. I went to school an’ majored in fine arts, so it ain’t like there’s a lot of job opportunities popping up. Mostly I just do a lot of freelance artwork, graphic design, online commissions, stuff like that.” He waved his hand in the air, adding, “I think I’d like to go to art school someday, if I could save up enough for it.” Some part of Steve marveled at how easy it was to talk to Bucky, like they had known each other for years rather than minutes. Something about the musician just gave Steve a sense of warmth, of comradery.

 

There was silence for a moment as Bucky just nodded, as if he understood. When he spoke, his eyes stayed on his water bottle, and his voice was as careless as could be. “Yea, I get that. I was the same when I was younger, thought that music was the only path for me. My parents always said it wouldn’t get me nowhere, but what do they know, huh?” Bucky gave a wry chuckle, shaking his head. “But… college wasn’t really in the cards for me, and when I had the chance to go to the Army….” He trailed off with a shrug.

 

Now Steve nodded, because everyone knew the story of Sergeant James Barnes, the man before the rock star. World class sniper status, dozens of classified missions, and the involvement of a whole lot of government agencies all added to his intrigue. Of course, everyone also knew the horrific story of how he ended his military career- a mission gone wrong, half of Bucky’s team dead, and a bomb almost blowing off his entire left arm. He had thought he’d never play guitar again, and it was only thanks to the country’s greatest surgeons and physical therapists that he could now.

 

This was all info that every fan knew from Bucky’s countless interviews and “tell all” segments on TMZ. Steve had always carried the thought that it was all a little too… shiny, a little too clean cut and happily ever after. Embarrassingly, Steve had watched the interviews too many times to miss the tension and strain in Bucky’s body and voice whenever he spoke about it, and how he always repeated the exact same story without ever giving any further details. But he figured that something as horrific as what he experienced deserved the respect of being kept out of the limelight, so Steve simply smiled at Bucky. “I wanted to be in the army at one point, _so_ bad.”

 

That seemed to surprise Bucky, who looked up from his water bottle, an eyebrow raised as he gave Steve a pointed once over. Steve snorted, eyes rolling. “Yea, yea, what help could a guy who’s five foot four an’ barely a hundred pounds give, right? Not ta mention the list of health problems as long as my fuckin’ arm,” he muttered.

 

Bucky frowned. “I dunno, from what I’ve seen, I think you’d be a great soldier,” he said earnestly, leaning back in his chair as he kept eye contact with Steve, bouncing his leg. He seemed completely serious, a soft smile now ticking up his lips.  

 

Steve couldn’t contain the small flush in his cheeks or his tiny grin. “Thanks, Buck.” He then physically cringed, eyes wide at the ridiculous nickname he’d just said. “Oh, shit, ignore that, ‘m sorry,” he groaned, resisting the urge to bury his burning face in his hands. Of _course_ he’d embarrass himself in front of his idol, a world famous rock star. It had been going so well, too. _Buck. What a stupid thing to say. A nickname for his nickname?_

However, when Steve risked a glance back at Bucky, he saw that Bucky was blushing too, a bright smile on his face, eyes almost feverish. “Hey, don’t apologize. I kinda like it. _Buck_ ,” he repeated, as if he were rolling it around in his mouth, testing it out. Steve flushed even deeper, if that was possible, and then _did_ bury his face in his hands when Bucky had the audacity to wink at him. “Nah, I’m serious, it’s alright. Here, I’ll give ya one too… Stevie.” Bucky continued, eyes twinkling.

 

Just barely avoiding choking on air, Steve could only give a weak laugh, surely broadcasting just how much he immediately loved that stupid nickname. He needed to leave before he did anything else stupid, but now Bucky was studying him closely, making Steve fidget. Just as Steve was about to blurt some excuse about needing to go home to feed some non-existent pet, Bucky jumped off his chair, clapping his hands loudly, the sound making Steve jump.

 

“Okay, Steve, so here’s the plan,” he started, eyes alight with a new energy. “I’m gonna hire you, unofficially, to be the new designer for our band. We always use the same generic shit for posters and t-shirts and album covers, an’ I think you’re the breath of fresh air we need!” Steve gaped, but wasn’t given a spare second to interrupt. “You’ll need to come on tour with us, of course, but there’s plenty’a room on the bus, ‘specially if you bunk with me in the hotels. You won’t get paid a ton, but your food and lodging’ll be covered by the band, so you won’t really be in need’a anythin’. Besides, if it all goes well, I think in the end it’ll still be enough money to get ya to art school. Sound good?”

 

When Bucky finally finished speaking, all Steve could do was stare at him, jaw dropped. Bucky… wanted to hire him? To design for the band? To spend the next few months with him? It was all almost too much to process. “I-I… uh… why?” was all that Steve could stammer out, as he started thinking once again that this must all be a dream. A particularly vivid, flirty, embarrassing dream, but a dream none the less.

 

Rolling his eyes, as if Steve had asked the stupidest question he’d ever heard, Bucky explained, “There ain’t always gotta be a concrete reason, Stevie! I wanna get to know you better, I think you’d be really good at this, you seem like a good guy who deserves a cool chance like this, we really do need new designs- take your pick!” Bucky was practically bouncing on his toes, his mood swinging towards manic oddly quickly. But all Steve could think about was this ridiculous offer. Maybe it was a joke?

 

“Are you serious? Like, you actually mean this?” Steve asked, heart beating loudly in his ears.

 

Bucky nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely. C’mon, Steve, literal once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It’ll be fun! Plus, think’a the publicity- I bet you’d never have trouble findin’ a job after.”

 

Though the offer was amazing, it still nettled something deep inside Steve. Was Bucky just giving him a job, thinking that Steve had been going for a sob story? A lifetime of pitying looks and shut doors in face had Steve narrowing his eyes. “Seems like an awful lot for someone ya just met. How do y’know I’m even qualified? Wouldn’t wanna hire someone for charity and then find out that they suck.”

 

Though he looked a bit taken aback at the sudden edge to Steve’s voice, Bucky quickly bounced back. “Okay, well then, show me whatcha got! Think of it as an audition, then.”

 

And well, Steve couldn’t refute that point. With a small sigh he dug his phone out of his pocket, quickly opening it up to his camera roll. He held it out to Bucky, who took it and quickly flicked through the “Art” album, eyes wide. “Steve… holy _fuck_ ,” he breathed, looking up to send a quick grin Steve’s way. “These’re amazing! If I hadn’t already wanted ta hire you, this woulda sealed the deal for sure.” But Bucky didn’t hand back his phone just yet, quickly clicking the home button and typing something in. Just as Steve was about to yank his phone back, Bucky thrust it towards him, sharp grin on his face. “I took the liberty of puttin’ my number in there. You know, just in case. So… whaddya say?”

 

Steve blinked at him. It all sounded too good to be true. But Steve took things at face value, and from what he’d seen today- and what he already knew of Bucky- the man was sincere, and so his offer was most likely genuine. He was right, of course; this would be an amazing opportunity for Steve, both personally and financially. Tour with his favorite band of all time _and_ get paid to do what he loved? Everything in him was screaming at him to accept it. A logical corner of his mind told him he couldn’t just up and leave New York like this, but what did he have here, anyway? A couple of friends (who would totally understand; he could hear Sam and Peggy gushing right now), no official job, and no house of his own?

 

What did he have to lose?

 

“Okay, I’ll do it,” Steve finally said, grin growing unconsciously to match the glowing smile on Bucky’s.

 

Bucky slung his arm across Steve’s shoulders, pulling him into his side as he led him towards the door. “Fuckin’ A, Stevie! Alright, we leave here at six am sharp tomorrow, so be here by quarter of, else Maria’ll kill you. Don’t bring more’n two or three bags!” With that Bucky opened the door and ushered Steve out. “See ya tomorrow morning Steve!” Bucky called with a wave as he shut the door.

 

Feeling like he’d been hit over the head with Rapunzel’s frying pan, Steve followed Maria, who had appeared from out of nowhere, back out of the building and to the street. She already seemed to know what had happened, as she pointed out where the tour bus was parked and reminded Steve to be there no later than five forty-five sharp. Steve nodded, still in a daze, and then turned to walk to the garage where he’d parked his bike, eager to get home.

 

He had a lot to do in just a few hours.

 

**June 14th**

 

Sam insisted on coming with Steve to get on the tour bus. His excuse was that Steve needed a ride, but Steve knew that his soft-hearted friend wanted another chance to say goodbye. Steve had woken him up as soon as he’d gotten home, at almost two in the morning. Sam had at first been incredibly pissed, but as soon as Steve had gotten through his explanation, pacing incessantly around the living room, Sam had been just as awake as Steve. He’d pounded Steve on the back, congratulating him, before he’d gotten a sad smile as he realized he’d be losing his roommate and friend for at least five months.

 

When Steve had apologized for that, Sam had smacked him upside the head, saying that _if he didn’t get his white ass packed up and on that bus Sam would throw him in the cargo hold himself_.

 

Sam had stayed up with Steve, helping him pack his clothing into a duffle bag and all of his art supplies into a much bigger duffle bag. A small backpack held the necessities like money and toiletries, and then… Steve was done. His entire life packed into three bags, the spare room now looking more empty than usual. Taking one last look around the room, giving a small nod, he went downstairs to where Sam was waiting at the kitchen table, coffee- _bless_ him- waiting and steaming. “Alright, let’s go!” Steve said, extra chipper to cover the fission of nerves going through his stomach.

 

Shaking his head as though he knew exactly what Steve was doing, which he probably did, Sam grabbed his keys, as he’d offered to drive them in favor of overloading Steve’s bike. The ride to the concert venue seemed much shorter than it was last night, and as Steve hopped out, he got butterflies as he saw Bucky give him a wave. Steve waved back, with a most-likely-dopey expression on his face, and Sam scoffed and shoved him a step forward. When Steve squawked in protest, Sam only replied, “I don’t have time for your crushes on emo white boys, I wanna get home and go back to sleep.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes but pressed on, waving to Maria. She showed him where to put his stuff, gave him a quick tour of the inside of the bus, and laid down their general rules and routines for travel. Sam meanwhile followed them around, unsubtly flirting with Maria, who seemed bemused at his antics. Steve snickered, elbowing Sam more than once; he’d always had such a weak spot for women who could kick his ass if provoked. Sam put up with the ribbing good naturedly, though he also went wide-eyed as Natasha came up to them, introducing the rest of the band.

 

She looked so intimidating, dressed up in denim and leather and thick boots even at six am. “I’m Nat, the lead guitarist. This doofus here is Clint, the drummer, and this is Wanda, the bassist,” she said, gesturing respectively. “Welcome aboard Steve. Hey there… Steve’s friend.” Though her words sounded casual and careless, the calculating glint in her eyes showed that she very much belonged in the “could and would kick your ass” group of women, and that she was already studying the two men to see how they worked.

 

Holding out his hand to shake, Steve said, “Hi, Natasha. I’m Steve, the new artist.” He tried to play it cool, but couldn’t help adding, “It really is an honor to meet you, ya know. Huge fan,” he blushed. Sam snickered at him, Steve stomped on his foot, Clint and Wanda smirked, and Natasha gave Steve a knowing smile.

 

“I know, James talked about you at length when he informed us of his new hire last night,” she drawled. Steve flushed further- Bucky had talked about him? For how long? About what? Natasha’s smile grew sharper, more pointed, and she simply said, “It’s time to load up, we gotta get going. Come on, Steve,” she called as she walked back to the bus, Clint and Wanda drifting after her.

 

Steve nodded, saying, “Give me one moment,” before turning to Sam. The two embraced hard for a few moments, both pretending the other wasn’t misty-eyed.

 

“Don’t get into any trouble,” Sam warned, shaking a finger at Steve.

 

Chuckling, Steve replied, “No promises- you know me too well by now.” Sam laughed his agreement, before- with a final wave- he went back to his car to return home. Taking a deep breath, Steve turned back around and stared at the bus. He was nervous beyond all get out, didn’t know if he could cut it or how he would like it, but above all he was determined to learn, produce his best art, and enjoy what he could.

 

He walked purposefully over and boarded the bus before he could overthink it, Maria patting his shoulder and climbing on after him. Within a few moments they were off, to where Steve wasn’t even sure of, and he felt his excitement overtaking his anxiety.  

* * *

* * *

 


	2. Make it Stop & Hero of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't listen to any other songs from this story, please listen to these two songs; simply amazing.
> 
> Brief, non-explicit use of cocaine.

**June 17- Philadelphia, PA**

 

The band as usual was set to play about twenty songs, and as it went along Steve watched and quietly sang along from his spot in the eaves of the stage. It was only his third concert on the tour, but he didn’t think the heady feeling of getting to watch his favorite band from this close up would ever go away. Of course, he got to see his favorite band _member_ even closer up, but no one needed to know about that. Even Steve wasn’t quite sure what end game Bucky was playing at, as he had been flirting nonstop for the past few days.

 

The concert had gone well so far, and they were now nearing the end of it. Luckily the clouds and the worst of the rain had held off for the outdoor venue, and the crowd was loving every second of it. Just as the finishing chords on the current song faded away, Bucky suddenly turned and glanced at Steve, though surely he couldn’t see the blonde in all the shadows and against the bright stage lights. Biting his lip, Bucky seemed to search for Steve for a few moments, before returning his attention to the crowd. Stepping to the mic, he announced, “I got a surprise for you guys, I hope you enjoy.”

 

Bucky’s voice was rough and not as boisterous as usual, and Steve tilted his head. He then raised his brows when the opening vocalizing started for “[Make it Stop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XP4clbHc4Xg)”. It was a rare concert where they sung this song- in all the years Steve had been going to concerts, he had never even heard this song live- because of the sheer amount of grief and heady emotion it held. No matter who you were, it always managed to strike a chord; it was about kids committing suicide, for fuck’s sake.

 

Growing up, especially during his first years of college, this song in particular had gotten Steve through a lot of hard times, and it still brought tears to his eyes when he listened to it. He could hear people in the audience screaming and cheering, and thought he could already see a few of them covering their faces as if in tears. It was a gorgeous song, written for an admirable cause, and Steve was glad that the fans liked it. As Bucky led them through the first couple verses, the energy that spread through the crowd wasn’t as much empowering as it was connecting, all of them coming together and relating to and supporting each other. It was a beautiful sight, and Steve once again felt a rush of pride at Bucky’s skill and success.

_From a nation under God,_

_I feel its love like a cattle prod._

_Born free, but still they hate._

_Born me, no I can't change._

But as the song continued, Steve frowned more and more. Bucky had always put his all into his songs- it had always been easy to hear the pain, fury, and passion he imbued in all of his lyrics. It was one of the reasons he was so successful, why his voice made the band so distinct. This song especially warranted some extra power, some extra emotion, in order to do it justice.

_It's always darkest just before the dawn._

_So stay awake with me, let's prove them wrong._

Tonight, though… maybe it had happened before, maybe it had been happening over a period of time before Steve arrived, but something was off. The raw emotion was still in Bucky’s voice as he screamed into the microphone and struck at his guitar, voice grating rough in his throat with all of the empathy this song held. But it was the first time that Steve had ever heard his voice sound quite so ragged, seen his head hung so low against his chest. Bucky didn’t look as angry at the world and filled with blazing passion as he usually did… he looked like a man who was bent under the weight of his sorrow, like someone who this song had been written for.

_Make it stop,_

_let this end;_

_eighteen years pushed to the ledge._

_It's come to this,_

_a weightless step,_

_on the way down singing_

_whoa, whoa…._

 

Biting his lip savagely, Steve watched Bucky from the wings of the stage, trying to see his face, to decipher what was going on. Maybe it was just the song making him look like this; Bucky himself had said before that while he loved this song and what it stood for, it was too heavy to play at a concert. Steve had agreed- it was too easy to make people too upset with it, and it wasn’t really a feel good song. But Bucky choosing to play it, and him not having mentioned it at any point beforehand, worried Steve. It wasn’t like Bucky to switch up the set list, no matter how well the band could keep up.

 

As Clint drummed he was furrowing his brow, eyes set firmly upon Bucky. Natasha never faltered in her playing, and her face was her usual stoic mask, but Steve knew her well enough to see the tension in her shoulders and legs. Wanda kept perfect time with her bass, but she was studying Bucky as hard as Steve was. All of Bucky’s friends were worried about him, though they probably knew more about him and had more reason to worry than Steve, who had just met him.

 

It made him nervous, to realize how little he really knew about Bucky. Sure, he knew a lot of the basics that everyone did- he was a veteran, he was disenchanted with the Army and America in general, and he was very into social justice. Steve also knew little tidbits about him from their conversations they’d had over the last few days, like how his favorite candy was Swedish Fish and how he tied his long hair up in a bun when he was writing new music. But Bucky, as Steve had seen, was not the most forthcoming person to talk to. He never hid anything per se, but he was an expert at dodging questions with a smile, and switching subjects so effortlessly that your head spun. Steve knew it wouldn’t be easy to get the reason for this surprise performance out of Bucky.

 

The rest of the concert went smoothly, the band returning to the pre-determined set list and completing the concert without any hiccups. They were cheered back on stage for an encore, of course, and Bucky took the time between the last song and then to down a bottle of water. Steve slipped in next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Steve didn’t say anything, didn’t want to throw Bucky off or anger him, but he wanted to show Bucky that Steve was there for him. Bucky seemed to at least get the sentiment of the message, because he sent Steve a quick smile, reaching up and squeezing the hand on his shoulder before running back on stage.

 

That small moment of contact eased some of the tension in Steve, and he was able to fully enjoy the encore without worrying himself into an ulcer, Bucky seemingly back to normal. Finally it was time to clean up, the four band members doing cursory instrument maintenance and packing up. Steve loitered around, carrying bags or drum stands when he needed to, mostly trying to stay out of people’s way.

 

“Always such a good helper,” Wanda cooed as she crossed in front of him, ruffling Steve’s hair while his hands were too full to retaliate. He settled for baring his teeth at her, which only made her giggle as she swept away, shawl and skirt creating a small breeze. Clint snickered nearby, and Steve caught him in the shin with a lucky kick, making the fully-grown man whine. That in turn earned him a smack on the head by Natasha, who just rolled her eyes at Clint’s continued theatrics as he fell onto the ground, pretending to cry. Steve couldn’t help but laugh and look for Bucky, but the brunet was nowhere to be seen.

 

Bucky must have been cleaning up his dressing room, for he didn’t reappear until it was time to meet outside the venue. They returned to their hotel room via tour bus, Steve on the couch next to Bucky, leaning against his shoulder. Bucky had let his head drop against Steve’s when they got settled in, and though he smelled like sweat and leather, Steve sneakily inhaled his scent, not letting himself think too much about how much he liked it. Bucky had shown himself to be a very tactile person, and Steve felt a little bad about taking such obvious advantage over it, yet not bad enough to stop. They were silent on the ride, listening to the other band members chatter farther back at the little kitchenette table. Steve wondered if Bucky could tell that something felt off.

 

Or maybe he had popped another pill and wasn’t up to talking anyway, Steve thought with a twinge of disapproval. He had quickly learned by only the second day of knowing Bucky that the singer took a suspicious amount of prescriptions; Bucky seemed to have pills on him at all times of day, the only time he refrained from taking them right before a concert. Steve still didn’t know what kinds of drugs Bucky had on him, or how many, but Steve was a bit afraid to ask. He’d only seen Bucky actually take the pills a couple of times, and seen the side effects of them a few more times; their friendship still felt too new to ask such a sensitive question, but Steve found himself already worrying about his new companion. Especially one with whom he’d have to spend so much time.

 

Because, apparently, Bucky hadn’t been kidding when he’d said Steve would bunk with him. Bucky had informed Steve, as his arm had draped across the back of the seat behind Steve’s head, that tonight they would be sharing a hotel room, since the other band members did too. Steve almost pointed out that Clint and Natasha did so because they were literally a couple, and Wanda shared with her brother Pietro who worked security for the band. But Steve didn’t truly want Bucky to retract the offer, so he kept his mouth shut, nerves and pure excitement warring in his chest.

 

When they finally reached the hotel suite it was past one in the morning, but Bucky didn’t seem ready for bed yet, slinging himself lengthwise onto the couch and grabbing a beer from the minibar. When Steve hovered in the hallway between the living room and the two bedrooms, Bucky hoarsely called over, “C’mon, come sit with me for a bit, punk. I’m still too wired from the show to sleep yet.”

 

If there was one thing that Steve had already learned, it was that he was powerless to say no to Bucky, _especially_ when his voice sounded so rough and used…. Steve was only human. Swallowing, he came into the living room, shoving Bucky’s legs towards the back of the couch to settle on the half a cushion of space left, only for Bucky to swing his legs and place them in Steve’s lap. At least Bucky had taken his shoes off this time. “You guys sounded real good today,” Steve complimented. Bucky hummed noncommittally, his lips wrapping around the bottle’s neck in a way that seemed unfairly sensual.

 

Swallowing again, Steve paused, unsure of how to bring up the extra song. He liked to think that he and Bucky were on their way to being good friends now, but Steve knew that things like war experiences and someone’s mental health were things that took more than a few days’ worth of trust to share. But, he had never been a coward, and he wanted to know, wanted to take whatever Bucky was willing to give. “I noticed that you changed the set list,” he said casually, playing with a string on Bucky’s jeans.

 

Bucky only shrugged, and Steve glanced up to see his lips pressed tightly together. “Yea, just… hadn’t played that song in a while.” He never looked up from his beer bottle, which was already almost empty. The lack of eye contact was a dead giveaway that he was either lying, embarrassed, or both.

 

Steve frowned, moving his own gaze back down to the string he was messing with so that Bucky wasn’t forced to meet his eyes. “Kinda heavy, for a concert,” he prompted, not quite sure himself where he expected or wanted this conversation to go.

 

Sighing and letting his head fall back against the couch armrest, Bucky took a moment before replying. “Look, I know I probably shouldn’ta done that, but the crowd liked it, ’s one of my favorite songs… I don’ see what the big deal is.” He sounded tired and burnt out, which was a bit better than angry or insulted, in Steve’s book. But he wasn’t really getting the point, or maybe Steve was being _too_ vague.

 

“No, I mean… it’s fine. ’s one of my favorites, too. I still cry hearin’ it, sometimes.” That caught Bucky’s attention, and he looked at Steve with wide eyes. Steve paid him no mind, following the track his mind had set on. “I just… wanted ta make sure you’re okay. Just ‘cause… I dunno, switchin’ up the set list, singing such a heart-breaking song….”

 

As expected, Bucky rolled his eyes. “Steve, I’m fine, just felt like a change tonight.” Steve almost would’ve believed him, if it hadn’t been for the white-knuckled death grip he had on his empty beer bottle.

 

No matter how much he wanted to know what was wrong with Bucky, he didn’t want to push the singer away or anger him, so Steve backed off for the moment, sighing. He flattened his hand on Bucky’s shin, feeling the warmth soaking through the fabric. “Yea, yea, I know, just… I’m here, yea? If you ever… do wanna talk, ‘kay?”

 

Bucky grinned at that, behavior suddenly almost back to completely normal. “Yea, I know Stevie.” Steve’s heart stuttered at the stupid, adorable nickname. Bucky’s demeanor changed yet again, his eyes growing darker as his pupils dilated even more than they had been from whatever drugs he must have taken, and his smirk growing more pronounced. “Believe me, I _know_ you’re here. Every damn day, I’m tryin’ to see where you are, be near you.”

 

Steve’s throat was dry, and his heart had taken up residency in it. He wasn’t dumb enough to miss Bucky’s obvious deflection, or how completely his attention was yanked from the original topic of conversation. But he also was only human, and continued to stare, mouth slightly open. “W-what?” This sounded like Bucky was… coming on to him, which Steve _definitely_ didn’t have a problem with, but… why?

 

Chuckling lowly, Bucky set his bottle down on the floor, getting up on his knees on the couch to shift closer to Steve. “Why d’ya think I asked we get a hotel room for this show instead’a just usin’ the bus? I’ve seen how you look at me, an’ I _know_ you’ve seen how I look at you.” By now Bucky was leaning over Steve, who had backed up against the armrest, and his voice was nothing but a purr. “I’m tired of playin’ games, Stevie.”

 

All of what Bucky said wasn’t a lie. Steve had been pretty sure they’d been flirting a fair amount over the past couple days, especially two days ago as the team played all those dumb sleepover games on the bus. Though Steve couldn’t say he hadn’t been disappointed when nothing came out of it, he hadn’t been surprised. Bucky was an international rock star, he could have literally thousands of people at his beck and call if he wanted to. But now…. Perhaps all the flirting hadn’t been just a way to pass the time.

 

“Um,” Steve said intelligibly, heart racing so hard that Bucky could surely see it under the pale skin on Steve’s neck. Unbidden, Steve’s hands came up to rest on Bucky’s hips, and the singer took that as an invitation to shift closer, knees now bracketing Steve’s thighs. Bucky leaned in, loose hair tickling Steve’s cheeks as Bucky’s nose brushed along his neck. Steve shuddered, fingers tightening their hold reflexively. Bucky chuckled, hot breath wafting across Steve’s skin, and Steve may have whimpered as he felt the barest brush of soft lips against his neck.

 

Voice low and hoarse, which alone had Steve hard enough to hammer nails, Bucky murmured, “That’s it, doll. God, you’re so pretty. Fit perfectly, right here against me. We got our pick of bedrooms, sweetheart, let me make you feel good….” Bucky then licked roughly up the column of Steve’s neck, ball of his tongue piercing slightly colder against skin, ending with a nip at Steve’s earlobe that made him moan. Steve’s entire body felt like it was fizzing, every nerve tingling, and he was already gasping slightly.

 

It took all of Steve’s willpower to pull together coherent sentences, and he had to shut his eyes, or else the sight of Bucky _fucking_ Barnes practically in his lap would surely switch off his brain for good. “Buck… Bucky… hold on, we _just_ m-met-” He broke off with a groan as Bucky lightly traced his tongue around the shell of his ear, closing his lips around his piercings and gently tugging.

 

“I’ve done more with people who I’ve known less,” Bucky muttered right against Steve’s ear, and Steve may or may not have whimpered as he felt the hot wet of Bucky’s tongue once again across his ear, metal clinking against metal. He then eased his hips down, slowly but surely pinning Steve with his weight, and if the low laugh and nip to Steve’s neck were anything to go by, Bucky could definitely feel how hard Steve was. “What’s wrong, baby? You want me, I can feel and hear how much you do…” Bucky growled, hands drifting across Steve’s stomach.

 

Steve kept his eyes closed, still refusing to look, because then he’d be completely gone. “I… this ain’t a good idea. W-we jus’ met, I really hardly know y-,” he gasped as Bucky rocked ever so slightly against him, “you’re _high_ ….” When Bucky didn’t stop his ministrations, Steve mustered his strength, physical and mental, to reach up and push at Bucky’s shoulders. “Bucky, stop,” he finally spoke louder than a whisper.

 

Freezing, Bucky slowly lifted himself up just enough to see Steve, hair falling down around him. His gaze was serious as he searched Steve’s face, and he seemed more sober than he’d been for the whole conversation. “You… don’t want this?” he asked, and Steve was shocked to hear genuine confusion and hesitancy in his voice. It reminded Steve of the way he himself sounded sometimes, more insecure than he let on.

 

As he shook his head, Steve returned his hands to Bucky’s hips. “No, I… I do, Bucky, god, I’d hafta be an idiot not to.” Bucky seemed a bit mollified, giving a tiny nod. “It’s just... look, I don’ rush into relationships, especially sex an’ stuff, and usually I need a bit more’n a few days to trust someone enough for that.” Even though Steve was blushing at how middle school he sounded, he made sure to keep eye contact with Bucky so that there was no misunderstanding. Maybe Steve _was_ ready to do this with Bucky, but with Bucky high, the fatigue from a concert hanging over them, and Bucky’s obvious deflection from the earlier conversation… it wasn’t right to do that tonight. “An’ _god_ do I want this with you, but… gimme a bit more time, yea? Maybe a real date or two first?” he asked with a grin.

 

Steve was thrilled when Bucky finally returned his smirk, and the brunet easily rolled back until he was once again leaning on his armrest like nothing had happened. It could almost be infuriating how put together he still seemed. “But ya do want me, right?” he asked, though it was clear from his tone that now he was teasing rather than asking for his own self-worth.

 

Rolling his eyes through his persistent blush, Steve folded his arms against his chest, shifting uncomfortably as his dick still pressed insistently against his pants. “Yes, you jerk, I dunno if you’ve noticed, but you’re a pretty nice catch.”

 

“So people tell me,” Bucky replied, also rolling his eyes, “though I haven’t actually had, like, a real relationship since I got back,” he continued, looking down and picking up his empty beer bottle to fidget with.

 

Fighting to keep his surprise off his face, Steve nodded. “Been busy?” That was the only reason he could think of; he’d figured Bucky would have to be beating them off with sticks. Or would be able to have his pick of anyone he wanted- he was handsome, talented, witty, confident…

 

Bucky shrugged. “Partly, yea. Ain’t much room for a relationship on a tour bus that’s constantly movin’. Plus…” he paused, blowing out a breath. “I dunno, I can never read people’s intentions, ya know? Whether they’re there for Bucky, or James Barnes the Rockstar,” he finished with a bitter tinge to his voice. Steve should have seen that coming- fame invited all sorts of selfish and uncaring types like moths to a flame.

 

Steve frowned, reaching out to gently wrap a hand around Bucky’s ankle, the only part of his body that he could reach. Bucky glanced up at him, face blank but body radiating wariness. “Well then they’re all stupid, if they can’t see Bucky through all of that. I think he’s a pretty cool guy.” Steve gave his cheesiest grin, and Bucky scoffed as he unfolded himself from the couch, though Steve could see the smile playing on his lips.

 

“Alright, charmer, I think it’s bed time,” Bucky announced, stretching. Steve stood up and nodded, and they both waited awkwardly, Steve wondering what Bucky would do next. Would he try to proposition Steve again? Invite him into his room? Try to kiss him? Steve, since he was so suave, would probably just give him a loser wave and then slink off to shower. Bucky, after a moment, did walk towards Steve, his teeth set in his lip, hesitantly pulling him into a hug.

 

Steve was no expert on hugs, but he thought that this was the best hug he’d ever received. It was warm and just this side of firm, Bucky’s arms wrapping all the way around Steve, Steve fitting just under his chin, and Bucky smelling amazing, even under his concert sweat. It continued on, and Steve was loathe to break it. Finally, after thirty seconds, he felt a slight pressure as Bucky kissed him on the top of his head, and could hear the rumble of Bucky’s voice through his chest. “I… I would invite you to my room, _just_ to sleep, but… I ain’t the best bed partner. I have, um, sometimes I get... well, nightmares suck.” His voice was quiet and unsure, and Steve squeezed him a bit tighter, heart shuddering at the open honesty.

 

“I understand, it’s totally fine.” Steve murmured in response, finally taking a step back. “But, you know where to find me, if you… you know, if you need anythin’.” Bucky nodded and smiled in return, and they both bid each other good night before going to their separate bedrooms. Steve got ready for bed mechanically, forcing himself to think of anything else other than Bucky’s mouth on his skin. He could get that soon enough, but, he also had to make sure he took care of Bucky. He was obviously more fragile than he let on, and Steve would be damned if he did anything to hurt the man.

 

 

 **June 18- Raleigh, NC**  [[[Concert Poster](http://i.imgur.com/hXmHlLy.jpg)]]

 

The next morning dawned bright and early, Maria pounding on their suite door at six am. “Up and at ‘em, boys, we gotta roll in half an hour!” she shouted through the wood. Steve could hear Bucky’s loud answering groan, and it made his lips twitch despite the early hour. Dragging himself out of bed and roughly scrubbing at his face, Steve sighed as he went about his morning routine. Medicines, brushing teeth, showering, putting in his piercings, and packing his bags. The early wake up calls and life out of a suitcase were rough, but Steve was slowly but surely falling into the rhythm.

 

He shuffled out to the main room a few minutes after Bucky had, and moaned aloud in happiness as Bucky pressed a warm cup of coffee into his hand. “You’re an angel,” Steve muttered, swallowing the still-too-hot liquid with a wince. Bucky simply chuckled and ruffled Steve’s hair; Steve glared, but secretly was flustered and pleased every time Bucky touched him. Steve was also happy to note, peering over the rim of his cup, that Bucky seemed less beaten down and more whole this morning. The singer was tired and morning-clumsy, but he wasn’t frowning or hunching in on himself, smiling easily as he met Steve’s gaze. Steve could only hope that this was Bucky feeling comfortable around Steve, and not just being high again.

 

Soon after, they were all piling into the bus, Clint being half carried by Natasha, whining about needing more coffee. Hill stood at the door, hustling everyone in with her ever present clipboard. Once inside, everyone except Natasha and Steve flopped back into a bunk, looking forward to sleeping for most of the ten hour drive. Steve spent his time sketching, preparing for the next set of new band logos and designs, enjoying quiet but infrequent conversation with Natasha, who was immersed in a book. Within a few hours Bucky and Wanda were awake once more, and joined them on the couches, the bus now more lively as card games were dealt, bets were placed, and food stops were made. It was the quickest ten hour drive of Steve’s life.

 

The set up for the concert was hectic as usual, so Steve tried to stay out of the way. He went to go see Bucky, but when he walked into his dressing room Bucky was on the phone. “Yea, I understand, Pierce,” he mumbled as Steve came in, not yet noticing the blonde. “I don’t…” Bucky swallowed heavily, eyes closing. “No, no I don’t want that….” He was whispering now, and Steve’s heart clenched to see how defeated the musician looked. Bucky listened for a minute, free hand clenched into a fist, before saying, “I _get_ it, alright? I’ll try it.” With that Bucky hung up, dropping the phone and putting his head in his hands.

 

 “Who was that?” Steve asked as he leaned against the wall, making Bucky jump.

 

The singer shrugged, hand running through his hair. “Uh, no one, really. Just… just Pierce, our manager.” Bucky cleared his throat, waving his hand. “No big deal. Anyway- what do you need?”

 

Steve frowned, not believing Bucky for a second. The singer looked badly shaken, and anyone who made Bucky look like that was immediately on Steve’s shit-list. But Bucky had a concert to prepare for, and he obviously needed to recover some equilibrium before then. “Nothin’,” Steve replied with a small shrug. “I came to see what you were up to. But I’ll just… let you get ready, then.” He peered at Bucky, trying to see if the singer would offer up any more details, but Bucky simply gave Steve a small grin. Steve sighed, turning and leaving the room, itching to grab Bucky and shake him.

 

Concert time came too soon, if the scrambling and cursing of the crew was any indication, and Steve helped collect the band members to usher them up to the stage. He noted that Bucky looked subdued, but then it was show time, and Steve lost sense of minutes and hours as he watched the band perform. The concert went beautifully, the line-up shuffled around to give the band some variety, and Steve felt excitement course through him as the beginning guitar chords to “[Hero of War](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_DboMAghWcA)” started, the final song of the night. It was one of his favorites, and this was the first time on the tour they were playing it; he couldn’t wait to see it live again. He watched raptly as Bucky sung about war and its atrocities, heart in his throat, goosebumps on his arms. His breathing sped up as Bucky neared the final verse, tears already prickling at his eyes.

 

Bucky slid gracefully to his knees, head tipped forward, chest heaving. Steve was momentarily breathless, watching him perform, everything so passionate and open and _raw_. He couldn’t see Bucky’s face well from this angle, but the singer seemed exhausted. It was just last night that Steve had been worrying about Bucky’s behavior, and it struck the blonde to see Bucky looking so… broken. He wondered how much sleep Bucky had gotten, if his nightmares had been worse than normal. It made Steve’s heart hurt to consider.

_She walked,_

_through bullets and haze._

_I asked her to stop,_

_I begged her to stay._

_But she pressed on,_

_so I lifted my gun,_

_and I fired away._

 

However, considering the song that Bucky was singing, the words that he was currently rasping into the microphone, quieter but no less powerful, perhaps it wasn’t so unusual. This was another powerful and tear-jerking song, one that Steve had spent years doing heartfelt singing to. But to really focus on the words and their meanings now that Steve knew Bucky personally, and see Bucky the _veteran_ instead of the rock star… it was sobering. Even the crowd had fallen mostly silent, letting only Bucky’s voice sing the lyrics.

_And the shells_

_jumped through the smoke_

_and into the sand,_

_that the blood now had soaked._

_She collapsed,_

_with a flag in her hand,_

_a flag white as snow._

Steve could hear the rasp of Bucky’s voice grow deeper and more choked, see the way his shoulders rounded under some invisible weight. Despite hearing this song hundreds of times, and many times live, it was the first time that Steve had really understood the heavy reality of the lyrics. Or perhaps this was one of the first times that Steve had seen Bucky show this vulnerability; he had only seen Bucky perform once a year before this. Either way, it called tears to Steve’s eyes, and a fist closed around his throat.

 

God, Bucky was beautiful this way.

_A hero of war,_

_is that what they see?_

_Just medals and scars,_

_so_ damn _proud of me_

Bucky spit the lyrics out, bitterness dripping from every word, forgoing the guitar and leaving the melody to Natasha. His left arm drifted closer, wrapping itself around his body as if for protection. He painted a heartbreaking picture, curled up on stage and singing straight from the heart. This performance would surely be all over Tumblr tomorrow; it was one of his best performances, one that a song such as this deserved.

_And I brought home that flag,_

_now it gathers dust,_

_but it's a flag that I love,_

_it's the only thing I trust._

Bucky’s voice faded away on the last word, and he didn’t rise from the floor immediately. He stayed still for a moment, head bowed, arm still curled around him. The audience lost it, everyone shrieking and cheering, many through their own tears, Steve saw. Wiping his own eyes hastily, Steve clapped hard, not caring if he looked like an idiot by himself in the eaves of the stage. It was probably one of the most moving performances Bucky had ever given, and that was saying something. War was never easy, especially for someone like Bucky, who left it in one of the worst ways possible. Singing could be cathartic, but Bucky didn’t look like someone who was feeling freed- he looked like a man crumpling under the strain.

 

Just as Steve was starting to worry if Bucky would ever get up, the brunet flowed upright, a strained but bright smile on his face. He raised a hand in recognition of the cheering, lifting the microphone to put it back in its stand as he spoke into it. “Thank you, guys, thank you so much. That song means a lot to me, and I hope it does to you, too.” He received more cheers in return. “Alright, good, great. We’ve been Crimson Riot- _thank you, Raleigh_!” Bucky finished in a shout, and the arena roared in response.

The encore went as expected, though Bucky spent the break beforehand studiously avoiding eye contact with anyone as he downed his customary water bottle. He did the same after the encore, and Steve didn’t even have a chance to catch him before the brunet hurried off to his dressing room. Feeling irritation bloom alongside his concern for his friend, Steve stalked after him, making sure to congratulate the other band members as he passed them; Clint saluted him, while Natasha and Wanda simply looked meaningfully towards where Bucky had disappeared. Steve didn’t give too much thought to how the women already seemed to know how close Bucky and Steve had grown, or how much Bucky meant to Steve. He preferred to pretend.

 The door to Bucky’s room was closed, so Steve knocked, waiting for a response. There was none, but Steve could hear rustling and light thumps, as if Bucky was packing a bag, so he knew the singer was in there. “Bucky, I’m coming in,” Steve announced, receiving only an irritated-sounding huff in return. Pushing open the door, the blonde walked in just as Bucky stood up from where he’d been leaned over the vanity, wiping at his nose. Steve narrowed his eyes, gaze flicking between a still-sniffling Bucky, the traces of powder on the counter, and the rolled up bill in Bucky’s hand. “Really?” Steve asked flatly, crossing his arms.

Bucky rolled his eyes, turning back to his bag to continue to pack, but Steve could see the stiffness in his shoulders and spine. This wasn’t something they’d talked about before, Bucky’s obvious drug usage, and Steve still didn’t know the extent of it. He’d obviously seen all of the pills that Bucky took, and he’d smelled weed on Bucky’s clothes; he knew Clint smoked with him, and Bucky had said that he was afraid of triggering Steve’s asthma with it. But this was the first time Steve had seen him do any hard drugs, and it wasn’t really a good sign. But that wasn’t what Steve wanted to talk about, so he shook his head, sighed, and shelved the conversation for a different day.

“Listen, I just wanted to make sure, um… are you okay?” Steve asked awkwardly, feeling déjà vu from last night. It was times like this that Steve was really reminded of just how recently Bucky and he had met; normally he wouldn’t ever ask these things of such a new friend. But due to the natural emotional charge of the music, spending twenty-four hours a day with Bucky, and Steve’s natural stubborn mother-henning personality, Steve pressed forward anyway.

As expected, the reply was a clipped, “I’m fine, Steve,” as Bucky finished shoving his personal items in his bag. “Come on, we gotta get back to the bus.” He made to push past Steve, movements sharp and overly controlled, though Steve could see his fingers shaking, from either drugs or nerves.

Steve stepped in front of the door, blocking Bucky’s exit. The singer glared at Steve for a second, but Steve simply stared back until Bucky’s eyes skittered away. He shifted his weight, running a hand through his dark hair. “Steve…” he said, voice a bit softer than before, “seriously, ’m fine. I know what I’m doin’. My guy’s clean, and I-”

Cutting in, Steve huffed loudly. “I ain’t talkin’ about the coke, Bucky, though I really wanna talk about that now too. But I meant the concert. Hero of War.” Bucky tilted his head, eyes still not quite meeting Steve’s. “It looked like it hurt, Buck. I mean, it was a brilliant performance, it made everyone cry. It was beautiful. But I ain’t ever seen it quite so….” Steve lifted a hand weakly when words failed him.

Bucky just shrugged, arms crossing, fingers plucking at the sleeves of his jacket. “I always give it my all, you know that.” He painted a miserable picture, and despite the raging need to get to the bottom of this, Steve was having trouble keeping the anger in his concern.

“But not like that. Not that I’ve seen,” Steve replied, any previous edge all but gone from his voice.

Sighing, looking frustrated again, Bucky resettled his bags, taking another step towards the door. “Yea, well, we ain’t really known each other all that long Stevie, maybe it’s just like this sometimes.” He paused, close enough that Steve could feel the heat radiating off of his chest. “Please, just drop it. I’m fine.”

With a sigh that bordered on a groan, Steve spun around and walked through the door, hearing Bucky shuffle after him. Neither spoke on the way to the bus, or as they settled in for the night. Wanda, Natasha, and Clint seemed to guess what had happened, and so the whole bus was somber as everyone climbed into their bunks and dropped off to sleep. Steve’s mind was whirling, however, recalling examples of Bucky’s off-kilter behavior, formulating possible reasons, wishing for different solutions. One thing was for sure- if Bucky was going to play hardball, then so was Steve. It was time to go to the other band members.

 


	3. Survivor Guilt & Swing Life Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some light sexual stuff throughout this chapter.

**June 19 th\- Charlotte, NC**

The band, and Steve, cheered as they passed the boundary of the city of Charlotte. They always appreciated a day off, since they could have a chance to do something other than sleep during the day, and could get out and explore the city for once at night. Steve, of course, planned to take a nap in a real hotel bed- these bunks were hell on his twisted up back- and then walk around the city, hopefully finding inspiration for his next work. As much as he loved the band and their crew, it would be nice to have some moments by himself.

 

They all trooped into the hotel, Steve sharing a room with Bucky again, and Steve immediately face-planted into his bed. Steve heard Bucky go into his room, presumably to do the same thing, and that was the last thing he knew for four hours. He was woken up, somewhat unceremoniously, by Bucky knocking loudly on his door and calling his name around three in the afternoon. Grumbling to himself, Steve stumbled to the door, yanking it open to glare at the brunet. “Whuzzit?” he asked, folding his arms.

 

Bucky looked him up and down, chuckling at whatever he saw. “You look cute all… grumpy-tired.” Steve huffed, ready to turn around and go back to bed, but Bucky shot forward and grabbed Steve’s arm. “Wait, doll, hold on. I was thinkin’…we got some down time today, an’ I owe you a date?” He smiled, seemingly at ease, but the way he shifted his weight belied his anxiety.

 

It took a moment for the words to sink in to Steve’s muzzy brain, but once they did, he could feel his cheeks flush. “Oh! Um, yea, that would be, uh… yes. Yea, let’s do that.” He laughed awkwardly, hand pulling nervously at his bird’s nest of hair. “Can I… yea, I gotta shower first, but then I’m good to go?” Steve stuttered out, head buzzing and fingers tingling. Was this real life?

 

Beaming, Bucky nodded. “Yea, sure! Just meet me in the lobby when you’re ready to go.” With that the singer strutted away, in the best mood that Steve had ever seen him. Steve was in disbelief, standing frozen at his door for a good two minutes after Bucky left. He was going on a real date… _with Bucky Barnes_. Which meant… which meant that this gorgeous man was actually interested in Steve, that the other night wasn’t just drug-fueled lust, and that Steve was getting to live his dream. It, just like his job offer, seemed too good to be true…. but look how that had turned out. That thought spurred him to action, and he sped through his shower before picking out one of his nicer outfits and hurrying downstairs.

 

The whole ride down Steve nervously fidgeted with his hair and clothes, wishing he had packed nicer things, or that his hair didn’t look so messy all the time. The usual self-doubt began to creep in- why on Earth would Bucky willingly date someone like him?- and Steve had almost convinced himself to run away by the time the elevator doors opened. However, in the lobby, Bucky stood up from his chair and grinned widely as he saw Steve coming. “You sure clean up nice, sweetheart,” he said, offering his hand to Steve. The blond blushed and took it, heart hammering away and smile huge, and Bucky quickly pulled him out the door, his destination already clearly in mind. Steve giggled and hurried along, Bucky’s excitement infectious and increasing Steve’s own. God, Steve hadn’t been in an honest-to-God date in almost two years.

 

Bucky’s plan, as it turned out, was nothing short of lovely. They started out at an art museum, Bucky blushing slightly as Steve turned his awed gaze on him. The two wandered around for close to four hours, Steve murmuring facts and opinions about every painting they passed, Bucky listening good-naturedly. Bucky then had to drag Steve away to go to dinner, which was a small rooftop restaurant: nothing too fancy, but upscale enough that Steve felt flattered. It was _perfect_. They drank too much wine, and talked about their childhood, past jobs, favorite movies- everything. They stayed until close, when the waitress very politely kicked them out.

 

They bought another bottle of the wine- it _was_ delicious- and wandered the streets, taking the scenic route back to their hotel. It was on the corner of two forgettable streets, in the glow of fairy lights from a nearby store, with an empty wine bottle in his hand, that Bucky finally kissed Steve. He bent his head, lifting Steve’s face with two fingers under his chin, lips as soft as they looked, his movements gentle and chaste. It left Steve breathing heavily, immediately wanting more, so he dragged Bucky back down by his collar, slotting their lips together again, and again, and again….

 

Both men were more than a little tipsy when they finally returned to their hotel, holding hands and giggling at nothing. On the way back Bucky had often stopped to bend and kiss Steve, making the blond blush even as he deftly returned, and deepened, the kisses. It was almost three in the morning by the time they managed to get inside and get ready for bed, though even after spending the whole night together Steve wasn’t yet ready to let go of Bucky. Reluctantly fending off yet another kiss, Steve pushed back on Bucky’s shoulders, dutifully ignoring the adorable pout on the older man’s face. “Buck… we should go t’sleep,” he slurred out, trying to make his face stern.

 

Bucky nodded, a smirk crawling across his face. He had drank significantly more than Steve, and even with his larger stature he was completely, totally drunk. “Only if ya come wit’ me, Stevie,” he drawled, letting a finger slide down Steve’s jawline.

 

Steve couldn’t help but flush at that, but his desire for sleep (and, okay, the alcohol) made him more confident than normal. “Okay, but jus’ to sleep. _Only_ sleep.” He even pointed a finger at Bucky, and though the brunet pouted again- why was a thirty year old man allowed to be cute?- he nodded. Turning around towards the bedroom, Bucky let his hand slide from its previous perch on Steve’s shoulder to his hand, pulling the smaller man with him. Steve giggled again, at what he didn’t know, and followed Bucky to his room.

 

Once there, Bucky quickly stripped to his boxers, only tripping twice, and encouraged Steve to do the same. Steve complied unthinkingly and then froze, suddenly unsure, liquid courage all but abandoning him. This was the first time Bucky had seen him without clothes, other than brief glances while changing on the bus. Bucky was a _sex god_ , with muscles and beautiful tattoos and no knobbly joints or twig-like limbs. Steve looked ridiculous next to him, and he crossed his arms in front of his chest self-consciously.

 

Yet again proving himself capable of more coherency than Steve had thought, Bucky looked up from where he’d gotten in his bed, peering at the blonde. He raked his gaze over Steve, making the blond swallow tightly, before tilting his head and patting the sheets. “C’mon, ya said you wan’ed sleep, are ya gonna cuddle wit’ me or not?” And how could Steve resist a ridiculous question like that? Crossing the room, he jumped onto the bed, making Bucky laugh, before leaning over to drop a kiss on Bucky’s lips. One kiss turned into two, three, four….

 

Finally Steve broke away, breathing just a bit heavier than before. “Hey, none’a that. Bed time,” he scolded through a smile. Bucky still looked way too smug, so Steve huffed and dramatically flopped around, turning his back on Bucky. Within seconds a large, warm arm was slung around Steve’s hips, and he was tugged back against a hard, even warmer chest. Steve shivered at how good it felt, and he felt more than heard Bucky’s chuckle rumble through his chest in response.

 

“Been told ‘m like an oct’pus,” Bucky mumbled in warning, already sounding more than half asleep. Steve could feel his breath on the back of his neck, a kiss fumbled on top of his head, and he shivered again, already dangerously addicted to this feeling.

 

“Tha’s alright with me,” Steve replied with a grin, and within half a minute they were both fast asleep.

 

 

**June 20 th **

 

The next morning came to Steve gently, sun beaming through the window, warming up the side of him that wasn’t already surrounded by body heat. Yawning and looking over to this left, Steve couldn’t help but smile as he came face to face with a still-asleep Bucky. His hair was a mess all over the pillow and his face, his nose was scrunched up, and Steve was pretty sure that he was drooling, but he looked beautiful. Steve took a moment to commit this to memory, wanting to add it to his (embarrassingly large) collection of Bucky-sketches.

 

It wasn’t until Steve was stretching carefully to reach his phone, noting with relief the lack of angry twinges in his spine, that Bucky woke up, groaning quietly and grinding his face back into the pillow. Steve chuckled, tempted to take a picture, and Bucky’s left eye popped open, glaring playfully at Steve. “What god-awful time izzit?” he asked hoarsely, and Steve had to swallow hard at the sound of his voice, so nice at any time of day.

 

Glancing at his phone, Steve said, “‘Bout eleven fifteen.”

 

“Good,” Bucky grunted, “we have plenty’a time,” before grabbing Steve with both arms and dragging him back into his chest. Steve let out a yelp and gave a token smack to Bucky’s arm, before he couldn’t resist relaxing into the scent and heat surrounding him. “Stay,” Bucky muttered against Steve’s head, fingers tracing patterns on his hip. Steve merely hummed in reply, dropping a kiss onto Bucky’s bicep, and then spinning around to kiss him on the lips.

 

The two sat there for almost half an hour, trading slow and sweet kisses and dozing on and off. It wasn’t much longer after that when Steve noticed some movement next to him; namely, Bucky’s dick getting interested in the slowly-building proceedings, thickening through Bucky’s boxers against Steve’s stomach. Instantly, hot arousal bled through Steve, and he wanted nothing more than to scoot down and suck Bucky completely into his mouth. But he had told Bucky, and himself, that they wouldn’t rush this, so Steve would give it more time. Another week, at least.

 

 _Well, another couple days, maybe_ , Steve thought as Bucky, half asleep, pushed his hips a bit closer to Steve. Then Bucky hummed, deep in his chest, and Steve felt his wonky heart skip a beat, and he amended his thoughts once more. _Well, I did say_ one _or two dates…_ Just as Steve was about to do something kind of stupid, like “accidentally” brush his hand across Bucky’s cock, there was violent banging on their door, more manic than when Hill usually did it. It made Steve jump and Bucky growl angrily into his pillow, sounding for all the world like a large and pissed off cat. Which he definitely was.

 

“Guuyyyyyssss,” came Clint’s shout through the door, who was more a large dog than anything else, “we said we were gonna do brunch with mimosas today. It’s almost _lunch_ time, not _brunch_.” He paused, seemingly waiting for a response, which wasn’t going to come if Bucky’s ice-cold glare was any indication. “And you know how Natasha gets if she doesn’t get mimosas when promised,” Clint added with heavy inflection.

 

At that Bucky groaned, loud enough that Clint heard it and cackled before banging on the door once more and running away. Bucky sighed, looking down at Steve, lips dangerously close to a pout. “It’s true. Last time we ended up with a dented bedframe, and Clint wouldn’t go near Natasha for a week.” Steve laughed at that, which earned him a lopsided smile and a kiss from Bucky. “Let’s get up and get ready; I think Maria wants us to do some press stuff today, too.” Steve nodded, accepting another kiss before walking over to his unused bedroom and bathroom, a grin still on his face.

 

The day passed by in a blur. Their brunch was filled with laughter and plenty of thrown food, and later Steve stayed behind in the hotel to work while the band did some pre-recorded segments for a talk show. Soon enough, everyone was running around and getting ready for the show, and Steve ambled to the bus to go over to the venue. Each band member was engrossed in their own pre-show routines on the way over: Bucky doing vocal exercises, Clint twitching his hands and feet as he ran through the set-list in his mind, and the women doing strange hand stretches and humming notes under their breath.

 

Once there Steve helped where he could as usual, wishing the band luck as they passed, habitual excitement for a show rising up in his chest. Tonight promised to be an amazing concert; the venue was large and impressive and, most importantly, almost completely sold out; Steve hadn’t been wrong about Bucky’s recent heartfelt performances quickly going viral. After their day off the band members were re-energized and raring to go, and Steve couldn’t wait to see how they would perform.

 

Crimson Riot didn’t disappoint. From the moment the band came on stage- Clint playing a loud drum solo to rile up the crowd as Wanda, Natasha, and finally Bucky followed him out- the audience was screaming and shoving forwards towards the stage. Bucky waved at the audience, giving an intro to the members and thanking people for coming, before heading straight into the music. The opening song was “[Survivor Guilt](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MiGBeovPNXk)”, which while a powerful song was also loud and fast, guaranteed to hype the crowd up even more. Sure enough, as Bucky continued belting out the angry lyrics, Steve could see multiple people crowd surfing across the GA pit, to his amusement.

_Carry on,_

_don't mind me,_

_all I gave was everything,_

_and yet you ask me for more._

_Fought your fight,_

_bought your lie,_

_and in return I lost my life…_

_What purpose does this serve?_

As usual, whenever he saw Bucky preform these songs now- songs he had been listening to and _feeling_ for years- it created a cold pit in his stomach. It was easy enough already to get swept away by the emotions that the songs brought on from a distance, but to know Bucky the way Steve was coming to, and to know that these were written from _personal_ experience… it was much harder than before to simply enjoy the songs from an outside perspective.

_The cowards preach from pedestals,_

_with words and courage and resolve,_

_but one thing that'll fuck 'em all_

_'cause freedom isn't free._

_They send our daughters and our sons_

_to deserts under burning suns,_

_a sacrificial slaughter to fill_

_the pockets of the weak._

_An artificial enemy,_

_are we so easily deceived?_

_So carry on,_

_just walk away,_

_how many more sent to their graves_

_in this lesson ignored?_

_I fought your fight,_

_bought your lie,_

_and in return I lost my life…_

_What purpose does this serve?_

_What purpose did I serve?_

 

As the last note faded away, Bucky poised at the front of the stage with his arms up and head thrown back, Steve shook his head, a lump stubbornly in his throat. God, Bucky was so strong to have made is this far, imperfect as he was. It was moments that made Steve think twice about going after his friend about his issues, since Bucky had already been through so much. But it was for this exact reason that Steve needed to help him- he didn’t want Bucky to have to rely on drugs and denial to deal with his past. If it was getting to the point where Steve could see the severity of the issue after just one short week of knowing the man, then Bucky was in danger of slipping further and further away from his music and his friends.

 

Steve vowed, then and there, that he would do whatever he could to aid Bucky’s recovery, even if Bucky hated him for it. Bucky had helped Steve through some of the worst times in his life, even if the man hadn’t known it; it was the least Steve could do to return the favor, in whatever capacity it took. Bucky may have more support than he realized, but he could always use more, and Steve was more than ready to take up that mantle.

 

It wasn’t until the next day, while they were driving to Florida for their show on the 22nd, that Steve got to speak to the other band members. He waited until Bucky was fast asleep- he always crashed a few hours after taking a bunch of pills, as he had before they all piled on the bus- before hesitantly approaching Natasha, who was seated at the small table near the front of the bus. She was listening to music and staring out the window, seemingly lost in her head, but she noticed right away as Steve approached, giving him a nod. “Hey, Nat… could I talk to you ‘bout somethin’?” he asked, shifting his weight nervously.

 

“Of course, Steve,” Natasha replied, patting the chair next to her. That’s what Steve loved about the redhead- as unapproachable as she looked, she was secretly one of the kindest people he knew. Settling down in the plastic chair, he _hmm_ ed and _haw_ ed, unsure of where to start. Natasha seemed to sense his unease, and leaned back in her chair, waiting him out with an unreadable grin.

 

Finally, Steve huffed a breath and blurted out quietly, “I need to know what’s wrong with Bucky.”

 

Natasha raised a deadly eyebrow, and Steve winced at his choice of words. “There’s nothing _wrong_ with him, Steve.”

 

Swallowing, Steve shook his head vehemently, thoughts already scattering. “I’m sorry… that came out wrong. I mean… he’s so… _sad_ and… lonely, all the time, and I just… I wanna help but I- I don’t know ‘im that well yet, and…” He trailed off, looking helplessly at Natasha, and just maybe using his as-named-by-Sam “Puppy Eyes” on her.

 

She snorted, eyes slanted at him like she knew what he was doing, but nodded slightly. “I know. And it’s… James, he…” Natasha hesitated, most likely weighing between telling Steve the truth and preserving the dignity of her friend. She sighed, the slight quirk of her lips the only thing betraying her stoic front. “He never truly came back from the war. Clint and I also served, you know.” Steve hadn’t known that, and the surprise must have shown on his face, because Natasha nodded. “Yup, Clint was a sniper as well, and I was… more specialized. But we were all on special ops, that’s how we all knew each other. Obviously, Clint and I weren’t on Bucky’s final mission, but we left the service not too long afterwards.”

 

She paused again, letting out another sigh and pressing her lips together. “It was bad when he first got back. Nightmares every night, flashbacks and panic attacks every day, and with all of the damage done to his left arm…. He was in a bad place. Once Clint and I came back, we were able to help a bit, make him go to his therapy appointments, and get him back into music, which seemed to help the most.” Steve sensed a large ‘but’ coming, and Natasha glanced at him, her smirk containing bitter edges. “He’s a much better actor than people credit him for. He even had me fooled for years. I thought he was healing, coping, getting better. Turns out he was just finding new ways to avoid it.” She shook her head, letting out a sharp _tch_.

 

Steve frowned, saying, “It ain’t your fault. He purposely made it so you couldn’t help him; that ain’t on you.” In only a week or so he had learned that if there was one person on Earth more stubborn that Steve Rogers, it was Bucky Barnes, and if he didn’t want to hear something, then nothing on Earth would make him listen.

 

Warmth sparked in Natasha’s green eyes, and he saw something genuine in her smile then. “Thanks, Steve, but it’s easier said than done.” Steve nodded, mouth twisted in understanding, motioning for her to go on.  “He got every scar covered up with tattoos, grew out his hair, jumped from alcohol to weed to pills to hard drugs, stopped going to therapy, slept less and less….” Natasha frowned, the expression unusual on her normally calm face. “It wasn’t until our second album, in 2014, that I even began to understand the kind of hell he was still going through, every day.” She glanced at Steve, eyes shuttered again, a cold front back up to protect her. “And that’s on me. He’s my best friend, and I didn’t know he was hurting until it was too late, until he was in too deep to accept anyone’s help.”

 

Shaking his head, Steve laid a hand on her arm, hoping he wasn’t overstepping. “Natasha, I haven’t known you guys for long, but I know you’re a great friend to him, you all are, and someday I hope to be included in that. But I’ve also already seen how difficult Bucky can be, and trust me, it’s on him. It maybe ain’t fair to say that, but it is. It don’t all fall on your shoulders; he’s an adult too.” It felt like betrayal to say that, but Steve knew that he was right, even if it needled him deep inside to say that out loud to another person.

 

Natasha seemed to sense his conflict, and maybe shared the sentiment, because she huffed a laugh and patted his hand. “It’s good to know that James has someone else watching his back. I guess I don’t need to give you the full shovel talk, then,” she teased, eyebrows raised threateningly.

 

Steve let out a groan, rolling his eyes as he abruptly stood up. “ _Thanks_ , Natasha, good talk,” he hissed, walking away to the sound of the red head’s sniggers as she re-inserted her earphones. Steve went off towards Clint, who was lying on the couch with his headphones on, probably napping.

 

“Psst, Clint,” Steve whispered, kicking the couch when there was no response. Clint startled awake, nearly falling off the couch before righting himself and glaring at Steve. “Don’t be such a baby,” Steve scoffed, before sitting gingerly on the couch next to him and sobering up. “I need to talk to you.”

 

Clint, for all that he goofed off, knew when it was time to get serious. “Uh, yea, sure. What’s up?” he asked, tossing away his headphones and fiddling with his hearing aids.

 

This conversation felt much safer than with Natasha, Steve thought. “I, um, I wanted to know what your thoughts were on… on Bucky. His behavior. How we… how I might be able ta help him?”

 

Staring for a second, before seeming to come to some internal decision, Clint smiled grimly. “Well, I assume you’re asking me because you already spoke to Natasha, and she didn’t give you many specifics.” Steve nodded, shrugging one shoulder. Clint _hmph_ ed. “Figures.” Rubbing his chin, Clint thought for a moment. “If you ask me, Bucky does need help. Like, professional. We’ve all tried, and nothing seems to be taking. But, one of the biggest problems is our fucking douche-bag manager.”

 

“Your manager?” Steve repeated in surprise, head tilting slightly. He couldn’t remember the guy’s name as of right now, but he definitely had never _heard_ anything about him being a bad guy. Although… thinking back to how Bucky had reacted to the phone call from him a few days ago, maybe the guy _was_ bad news.

 

Clint nodded solemnly. “Alexander Pierce. He’s a real son of a bitch. Good at what he does, which is why we signed on in the first place for a ten year contract, but he’s a smarmy, selfish bastard,” he growled. Steve was surprised; he had never seen Clint act anything other than friendly and happy-go-lucky. “I think he’s the one givin’ Bucky all of the drugs. Hell, he probably encourages Bucky to take ‘em, tells him they’ll improve his image, or some bullshit.” Clint was scowling heavily, hand fisted on his knee. “Even when Bucky was at his worst when he first came back he never did anything harder than weed; but now he can’t go to sleep without ‘em, and he just keeps taking more and more.”

 

Swallowing dryly, Steve asked, “How did this happen? Why would Pierce do that? And why would Bucky listen to him?” It just didn’t make sense; Bucky was such a stubborn asshole, how could someone make him do anything he didn’t want to do?

 

Clint snorted. “Pierce is manipulative, patient, and above all else clever. He knew Bucky was rough, knew that he already had holes in his armor. Anything to make him feel better, boost his career, make him forget. Press the right buttons, supply the good shit, and _boom_ , you’ve got a war vet with untreated PTSD who’s now also addicted to all kinds of drugs.” Now Clint looked morose, shooting Steve a look from lowered eyes. “He’s one of my best friends, and it kills me to see him this way, to watch him ruin himself. But, Steve, if he doesn’t wanna be saved, I’m not sure anyone can help him.”

 

Steve nodded, biting his lip as he absorbed it all. “Okay… yea, I know, Clint. I’m just tryin’ to… figure him out. Thank you.” He clapped a hand on Clint’s shoulder and squeezed, and Clint nodded in return, a small smile on his face. “You can go back to sleep now,” Steve added, which made Clint smirk, already laying down and retrieving his headphones.

 

“Way ahead of ya, dude,” he replied, and Steve shook his head and chuckled as he left him to sleep.

 

Walking to the back of the bus to the far bunk that belonged to Wanda, Steve found the woman in question laying on her bed, knitting something out of dark burgundy yarn. Knocking slightly on the bedframe to get her attention, he gave her a small wave. “Wanda, I need your opinion on somethin’,” Steve asked quietly, and Wanda nodded, sitting up and abandoning her needles. She gestured for Steve to continue, tucking her long hair behind her ear. “I wanted to know how you think I could be able to help Bucky.”

 

She just looked at him, her gaze always so knowing and wise for her young age, making Steve feel as if she could see straight into him. “I’m sure whatever Clint and Natasha have already told you will be more than sufficient,” Wanda replied, not unkindly, and Steve ducked his head, “but I appreciate you coming to me. I only ever knew Bucky after his time at war, so I have no comparison. However, I can see how much his past weighs on him, how heavy his burden is. It hurts me to see, especially since I can do nothing.”

 

Steve nodded, completely in agreement, and Wanda smirked at him. “I am glad you are here for Bucky, but you must be careful. It would be too easy to push him away for good, and we don’t want that either. That being said, if there is anything I can help with, please let me know.” She wrapped a hand around Steve’s wrist, bangles bumping against his arm, and he smiled at her, pulling her into a one-armed hug. She squeezed him back before releasing him, returning to her knitting.

 

Walking quietly to Bucky’s bunk, mind whirling with all that he had learned, Steve gently lifted back the curtain. Bucky was sprawled over his small bunk, hair everywhere and mouth agape. Steve couldn’t help his small smile as he brushed brown locks off of Bucky’s face. The singer wrinkled his nose in response, mumbling unintelligibly. This was the most at peace Bucky ever looked, in a drug-induced sleep, and it made Steve’s heart ache to see him look so young. Hopefully, Steve could get through to him before things got even worse.

**June 23 rd\- Miami, FL**

 

Tonight was another outdoor concert, with seats as far as the eye could see and a lawn section behind them. The large arenas sometimes took Steve’s breath away, especially when he wandered around them before the show started, empty seats surrounding him. It was almost like a liminal space, seeing a place usually so bustling being so completely empty. Steve shivered, returning backstage to hang around the halls until the show started in a few hours. He wanted to go find Bucky and hang out, maybe kiss him a bit more, but Bucky had been moodier than usual before concerts recently, and Steve was almost afraid of what he would walk into if he went to find Bucky now. So, instead, he hung with the crew, lugging wires or crates wherever need be.

 

The show went off without a hitch, the crew already skilled after spending months on tour with the band, and Steve stood in his usual place in the eaves, watching and quietly singing along. Though Sam and Peggy weren’t as huge fans of Crimson Riot as Steve was, he would still send them text updates about the shows and venues, or- like he was doing now- send videos from the concerts to their Snapchat group. They always responded positively, saying how they were keeping up on the band news, always complimenting his newest T-shirt or poster design, making Steve flush with pride. He couldn’t ask for better friends, he thought, as he returned his attention from his phone to the stage.

 

Bucky wasn’t one for talking much between songs; sometimes he would give a short story about one of the songs, or give a small inspirational speech if it was related, but for the most part he preferred to keep on playing and reserve his voice for singing. So it was surprising when, half way through the concert, Bucky paused to say into the microphone, “This song is about understanding and coming together, about overcoming and moving on. It’s a lesson we all could learn.” Steve couldn’t help but narrow his eyes at the hypocrisy, but the little snippet managed to warm his heart anyway. And the way that Bucky, as he started strumming, seemed to search back into the wings for Steve? That made his heart shudder and jump.

 

Steve also couldn’t help the pleased, hopeful soaring sensation in his chest as the band starting playing “[Swing Life Away](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BblV6AQsd2s)", which was arguably one of the sweetest songs the band had, the most mellow and peaceful. If Bucky really was singing this with Steve in mind… well, it made Steve’s bones turn into jelly if he thought about it too much. He swayed in time with the music, eyes on Bucky as the singer crooned, his eyes closed and shoulders relaxed.

 

_I'll show you mine if you show me yours first;_

_let's compare scars, I'll tell you whose is worse._

_Let's unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words._

Bucky’s voice was sweet and low, and Steve tried his hardest to focus on the here and now instead of indulging in his more juvenile, romantic fantasies. The audience had pulled out lighters and smartphones, and their lights swayed back and forth, adding to the heat buzzing through Steve’s veins.

_We live on front porches and swing life away,_

_we get by just fine here on minimum wage._

_If love is a labor I'll slave till the end,_

_I won't cross these streets until you hold my hand._

 

The happy flutters of his heart stayed for the rest of the concert, making Steve twitchy and everyone else around him stare. His mind tried to tell him to relax, that he was reading too much into this, but the rest of Steve’s body was totally in on it. He jumped around backstage after the show, helping pack up to distract himself, only pausing to send a shy smile to Bucky as the singer walked by. Bucky waved, a grin of his own on his face, and Steve smiled wider to see Bucky in a better mood than earlier today.

 

Since this group of shows all took place in Florida, the band was able to get hotels more often, since all of the driving could all be done during the day, allowing the band better rest. But between Steve needing to work on his art, one night spent on the bus, and then Clint dragging them all out to bars, Steve and Bucky hadn’t really had any time to themselves since their date night. On the one hand, it was a good thing, since Steve had already been so close to throwing away his self-imposed Take it Slow rule. On the other hand, it was torture, because Steve spent every night thinking about Bucky, the noises he made while kissing, the feel of his dick against Steve’s stomach…. It was enough to drive anyone crazy.

 

Which was why, as they finally returned to their only-slightly-sketchy hotel room to find that there was only one bed, even if it was queen-sized, Steve’s frail heart started pounding. The possible ways this night could continue seemed endless, and Steve was suddenly breathless with both nerves and excitement. Bucky didn’t seem to register nor care at first, because he simply stripped to his boxers and sighed heavily as he flopped onto the far side of the bed. Steve’s throat ran dry at the sight of Bucky’s tanned and inked skin, and he purposely didn’t let himself think too much before following suit, throwing his clothes in the general direction of his dufflebag.

 

He slid into the bed, facing Bucky, who simply rolled his head up to stare back. There was a moment of silence, before Bucky smiled, reaching out to rest a hand on the back of Steve’s neck. “Well hey there, stranger,” he mumbled, just the sound of his voice doing ridiculous things to Steve’s body, even if it was slightly slurred from whatever drug he had done after the concert.

 

“Hey,” Steve responded, biting his lip. He slowly brought his right hand up to comb through Bucky’s hair, earning a sound ridiculously close to a purr from the singer as gray-blue eyes slid closed. Steve swallowed loudly, dick already twitching, and as if he could read Steve’s mind, Bucky’s eyes quickly re-opened, and his smile took on a sharp edge.

 

Rolling over on his side, shifting closer to Steve, Bucky moved his hand from Steve’s neck to his cheek. “So, sweetheart,” he murmured, brushing his thumb across Steve’s bottom lip, “we gotta room to ourselves, a big bed, an’ the whole night ahead of us.” Pushing ever so slightly, the tip of Bucky’s thumb pressed between Steve’s lips, making the blond inhale sharply. “What’re we gonna do about it?”

 

Steve responded by taking more of Bucky’s thumb into his mouth and sucking hard, and Bucky choked on a gasp as his pupils dilated further. Bucky immediately rolled over on top of Steve, pinning him with his weight as he crushed his mouth to the blond’s. Steve moaned, reaching up to tangle his hands in Bucky’s hair. Almost thoughtfully, Steve tugged on the silky strands, causing a moan to punch out of Bucky’s throat. Steve arched against Bucky as he broke the kiss, gasping as Bucky simply continued kissing down Steve’s neck, biting lightly at the skin, hard enough to sting but light enough not to mark. It made Steve pant and writhe, already unbelievably hard from just two minutes of making out.

 

Slowly reaching to take Steve’s hands and pin them above his head, Bucky looked up from his ministrations on Steve’s collar bone just long enough to whisper, “I’m gonna make tonight th’ best night’a your life, sweetheart.” Steve let out a choked noise, going pliant under Bucky, already wondering how much more he would be able to take.

 

It was hours later that they finally collapsed, both panting and shaking but completely content and satisfied. Bucky had _definitely_ made good on his promise.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Rumors of My Demise & State of the Union

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some non-explicit drug injecting in this chapter.

**June 24 th\- Jacksonville, FL**

 

Waking up this morning, still half under Bucky just as they had fallen asleep last night, Steve was sure for a split second that he had gone to Heaven. Even if Bucky was kind of crushing him and was probably drooling on Steve’s pillow, and Steve was sore in places he didn’t think soreness was possible, Steve wouldn’t have chosen to be anywhere else in this moment. Craning his neck, he was barely able to read the clock on the nightstand behind him: ten in the morning, which mean they would need to be on the bus in about two hours. That left just enough time to shower and get some food, especially with how slow Bucky was when he first woke up.

 

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve murmured, gently sweeping dark locks of hair off of Bucky’s face. “Gotta get up.” The singer groaned, still more than half asleep as he cracked an eye open to glare at Steve. Bucky then pointedly shuffled so that his back was to Steve. Steve couldn’t help but chuckle at Bucky’s antics, and he slid over so that he was pressed against Bucky’s back, back to chest and hips to ass. “Buck,” he sing-songed, trailing his fingers lightly over Bucky’s ribs where Steve knew he was ticklish. Bucky grumbled unintelligibly, trying to swat at and squirm away from Steve’s hands.

 

Time to pull out the big guns, then. Unable to mask his smile, Steve slowly moved his right hand from Bucky’s side to his stomach, fingers drifting over his abs. “If you get up, right now, we might have time for blow jobs in the shower,” Steve cajoled, fingers just grazing the top of Bucky’s happy trail.

 

 _That_ got the singer’s attention. He turned his head, blinking heavily in the sun. “Promise?” His voice was gravel after singing and then fucking Steve all night, and Steve was more than ready to go all over again. He nodded his head, grinning slyly and that was all it took for Bucky to immediately drag him into the bathroom. Steve counted it as a success, even if their shower did take over thirty minutes to get done.

 

They made it to the bus by the skin of their teeth, grinning cheekily at Maria as they stowed their backs and clambered onto the bus. Steve tried not to look disappointed as the first thing Bucky did was swallow a couple of pills as they settled into the couch. It felt ridiculous to Steve that he had to be _grateful_ that someone was taking prescription pills, but it was better than the cocaine. Bucky seemed sleepy and compliant after he took them, but actually stayed out with the band instead of returning to his bunk. The ride was only a couple of hours today, so the band spent it chatting, idle talk quickly turning as always into heated and pointed games of Truth or Dare and Never Have I Ever. Steve often laughed so hard he was wheezing, and Bucky would grin and rub his back almost absentmindedly, always keeping a point of contact between them. It was like now that they had had sex, Bucky didn’t want to stop touching Steve; it was a heady feeling.

 

Once they arrived the band members all split off, Natasha giving Clint a kiss as they went to their rooms, Wanda wrestling a laughing Pietro into a nougie as he passed by. Steve wanted to follow Bucky, to give him some company in his room, but then he saw Bucky pull his phone out of his pocket as he went towards his dressing room. By the way Bucky scowled and his shoulders dropped, Steve could guess that it was Pierce again, and that Bucky probably wouldn’t like company right now. Trying to neither pout nor worry incessantly about Bucky, Steve sighed, going off to try and make conversation with some of the security guards.

 

Set up for the concert went as usual, though Bucky ended up spending the entire time in his dressing room, door closed tight, which was odd. Normally he went in there just to change and to do some warm-ups, and spent the rest of his time with the band and/or Steve. Or, in more recent shows when his mood seemed to be in a constant decline, he would make a quick appearance, or at the very least have his door open. It made Steve frown, but he soon shrugged it off, happy when flagged down to help Wanda tie up her tall, strappy, black “boot” monstrosities.

 

Soon enough the concert started, Steve giving Bucky a good luck kiss as he passed by. The crowd went wild as Bucky yelled, “Hello, Jacksonville!” He gave the usual pleasantries, thanked them for coming, and then pointed at Clint to get the songs started. As the bass and drums started pounding through the speakers, the crowd jumping and pushing and yelling, the band seemed to get swept up in the feeling, playing even louder than before. It was a vicious cycle that Steve could and did support.

 

As they continued playing through the show, however, something seemed… off to Steve. It wasn’t the music; every beat was on time, every note was on key, Bucky didn’t miss a single word. However, the longer Steve watched, the more he was sure that it was Bucky that was different. He wasn’t as invested in the music as he normally was, wasn’t throwing his all into it or letting himself feel the music. Bucky was toned down in a way he never was for his concerts, and there were no real, jagged emotions to his singing. As song after song went by, and they neared the three quarter mark of the show, an explanation came to Steve. It was ridiculous, but as he paid special attention to Bucky’s face and how his hands moved, he was sure of it- Bucky was high out there on stage.

 

The heavy chords of “[Rumors of my Demise Have Been Greatly Exaggerated](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=foI9VKvbfgo)” drowned out Steve’s whispered “ _What the fuck?”_ Since when did Bucky make time before shows to take the drugs? What did he take? A hot pulse of dread took root in Steve’s throat; nothing meant more to Bucky than his music, he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it, would he?

 

_When I die, will they remember not_

_what I did, but what I haven't done._

_It's not the end that I fear with each breath,_

_it's life that scares me to death...._

There was a lump in Steve’s throat that for once had nothing to do with the relatable, hard-hitting lyrics. Bucky was out there, standing still, playing and singing perfectly, yet this wasn’t the Bucky that Steve knew.

_When we built these dreams on sand,_

_how they all slipped through our hands,_

_and this might be our only chance._

_Let's take this one day at a time,_

_I'll hold your hand if you hold mine,_

_the time that we kill keeps us alive._

_Your words won't save me now;_

_I'm at the edge feeling the sweat drip from my brow._

_Get a grip on yourself is what they say,_

_every hour every day._

_Hands over my ears,_

_I've been screaming all these years!_

 

The lyrics were brutally honest and raw, but for maybe the first time, Steve couldn’t connect with the song. It sounded too lifeless to him; it was perfect tone wise, but there was no one behind the words. Steve was frozen in his spot the rest of the show.

 

Bucky’s performance hadn’t been lacking, far from it. This concert, like the last few, had gone splendidly. But… it was like Bucky was wrapped in gauze, shrouded from the world. Or maybe, shrouding _himself_ from _it_. Now that Steve knew to look for it, he saw the signs- Bucky’s tremoring fingers, the way he never seemed to catch his breath, the shine to his eyes and the slight dullness to his speech. Bucky had never, _never_ gotten high before a show- Steve had definitely never seen it happen, and Wanda corroborated it when he took a moment to ask her after the concert had finished. The fact that he was doing so meant so, _so_ many bad things.

 

Steve didn’t mention it to anyone, but by Clint’s furrowed brow and Natasha’s thinned lips, it seemed that the other band members already knew about their singer’s behaviors. But everyone let Bucky have his space, and he seemed calm enough as he went about packing up. He was at ease and even grinning when Steve went down to fetch him from his dressing room, though Steve swore that he could hear the rattle of pills in the pocket of Bucky’s leather jacket. He still didn’t say anything, biding his time, thinking of what exactly he should say, what he could do. Bucky hadn’t done anything _outrageous_ as of yet, nothing that warranted Steve attacking him right now. Not when he was so chatty and flirty, as he so rarely was.

 

They were spending the night on the bus so that they could leave early tomorrow morning to get to Texas. Bucky kept bumping Steve with his hip, trailing his free hand along any open area of Steve’s skin, leaning in for quick pecks as they skirted around each other in the small space of the tour bus. It was driving Steve crazy, even more so because he knew as well as Bucky did that they couldn’t actually get up to anything here, not unless they wanted the other band members, namely Nat, to murder them.

 

As they all stowed their things and got settled into their bunks, Steve right above Bucky as usual, Steve tracked Bucky as he got ready to sleep. Steve watched Bucky as he brushed his teeth, put his hair up in a bun, and then shake out four pills and dry swallow them. It made all of Steve’s insides clench; that was a lot of drugs, whatever they were. Did Bucky take that many every night? Did they help his nightmares? Was his body now tolerating them so much that he needed to keep taking more? How many pills would it take to seriously hurt him?

 

These questions kept Steve tossing and turning on the already uncomfortable bunk, sleep evading him. He simultaneously hated how responsible he felt for Bucky- he was a grown man, it wasn’t Steve’s _job_ to take care of him- and hoped that there was more he could do for the older man. Bucky was prickly and edgy and hard to understand, but under it all was a tired, beaten down soldier who needed help. Steve didn’t know how much he had to offer, but he knew that he wanted to be there for Bucky, as much as Bucky would let him.

 

To many, Bucky would seem like a less-than-ideal friend, let alone partner. He was moody and easily irritated, snapping at anyone and everyone when he was having a bad day. He was high about three quarters of the time, wouldn’t sleep without his drugs, and drank far too much when the occasion permitted. But Steve had seen the softer side of Bucky; the gentle smiles and sleepy kisses when they first woke up, the constant (and slightly adorable) need for touch and physical contact, and how when they were together Bucky never gave less than his full attention to Steve. Bucky was a good man, no matter what those around him might think, it was just buried and distorted by all of his awful experiences, the chemicals in his body, and even his own mind.

 

Steve was jolted from his somber thoughts by the sound of a cut-off whimper from below him, making him freeze. This wasn’t the first time Steve had heard Bucky have a nightmare. They happened once or twice a week, mostly on the bus, and Bucky was usually very quiet during them. He would mostly pant and tense his whole body, his muscles freezing up, and would be trembling and sweating bullets. Natasha told Steve that it was better to let him wake up naturally, since trying to wake him up would only make him panic worse and then lash out. It tore Steve apart to hear Bucky like this, but he didn’t want to risk him have a panic attack, so he waited it out, hands clenched in his bedsheets.

 

Luckily it was short; less than ten minutes later Bucky was jolting up, breathing heavily and wetly. Steve closed his eyes, feigning sleep as Bucky got up to use the bathroom, returning only to sit on the couch instead of his bed. He flipped on the small lamp on the table, and got out his notebook, theoretically to brainstorm new songs and lyrics. But Steve watched, heart breaking, as Bucky sat there for hours, eyes glazed over, nothing on the page.

 

 

**June 25 th**

The day spent on the bus was mostly quiet, each band member involved in their own activities. Bucky disappeared a few too many times “to go to the bathroom” to be normal, but Steve stayed where he was reclining on his bunk, sketching design ideas on his tablet. The singer looked exhausted, most likely from his sleepless night last night, though Steve did convince him to take a nap a few hours into the drive. When Bucky woke up he joined Steve where he was now sitting at the table drawing a portrait of Natasha, who was leaning back on the couch and soaking up the sun coming through the window, her eyes closed and face peaceful.

 

“She prolly knows what you’re doin’,” Bucky murmured playfully.

 

Steve grinned. “I’d be disappointed in her if she didn’t,” Steve whispered back.

 

“Thanks, Steve,” Natasha said, making Steve and Bucky snigger.

 

They lapsed into silence, Bucky simply watching Steve sketch until he was finished. As Steve presented the final piece, a minimalist charcoal piece, Bucky whistled lowly. “Impressive. How long’d that take?”

Shrugging, Steve replied, “‘Bout twenty five, thirty minutes.” Bucky shook his head with a small smile, and Steve flushed, looking back down at the table. Bucky ran his thumb up and down Steve’s right arm as they fell silent again, and Steve shivered slightly as he thought about the conversation that he wanted to have with Bucky. He tried to think of the best way to bring it up, to nudge Bucky towards the topic, but there wasn’t really a right way. So, he went with what he knew best: charging right in.

“Have you ever been to therapy? Or anythin’ like that?” Steve asked nonchalantly, trying to ease his way into the subject.

 

Looking slightly surprised by the abrupt question, Bucky snorted. “I mean, when I first got back, yea. But I ain’t been in years.” The brunet didn’t meet his eyes, fiddling with the fingerless gloves he was wearing. Steve huffed inwardly; maybe he should have rephrased his question to “have you ever _needed_ to go”. Because the answer would still be a resounding yes, even after years.

 

Keeping his voice level, Steve asked, “Why’d you stop?”

 

Bucky peered at him, like he was trying to figure out what Steve’s endgame was. Steve kept his face as guileless as possible, which Sam had told him did not work as well as he thought it did. “Well,” Bucky slowly started, “guess I jus’ felt like I was in a better place. I mean, it took over a year, but once my arm was healed up an’ my meds toned down, I felt like I could make it on my own.” The explanation would make sense, it would even be accepted and praised by anyone who didn’t know Bucky, those who didn’t know that he was still struggling every day, under drugs and nightmares and personal neglect. “Why?” Bucky asked, eyes still narrowed.

 

Steve shrugged. “I was just thinkin’ ‘bout my mom, is all.” It wasn’t exactly a lie; Steve wondered what Sarah would’ve thought of Bucky, if she’d like him. He thought she would have, if he had brought him home for a holiday dinner. Bucky’s face instantly cleared up, a comforting hand laying its warm weight on Steve’s neck as the younger man continued speaking. “I went to some therapy after she died, a kinda grief counseling.” The words were stilted and rough, as Steve hadn’t really talked to anybody about that time in his life. Bucky nodded, watching Steve with unusually sharp eyes. “It helped, I think. Not really to get over it- I still ain’t, to be honest- but to organize my thoughts, to help me stay on track an’ on top of my life. Everything else couldn’t go to shit just ‘cause one thing had.” Steve let out a chuckle, sharply reminding himself that this was supposed to be a pep talk for Bucky, not a sob fest for himself.

 

“And it helped you keep the resta your life from slidin’ out from under ya?” Bucky asked, suspicion in his dry tone. Steve couldn’t be upset though; it was also a tone of someone speaking from experience.

 

Steve smirked, wavering his hand in the air. “Well, I ended up needin’ to move into my friend Sam’s place pretty soon, since I was in college an’ pretty much broke. I barely finished my classes that year, just scraped by with C’s. I stopped lookin’ for work, an’ unless Sam forced me to eat what he made I stopped eatin’. It was rough.” Bucky frowned heavily, hand creeping up to rub at the short hairs at the base of Steve’s skull.

 

“How long’d it take?” Bucky murmured, fingers going in a steady circle.

 

“It took ‘bout a year after she died, I think, for me to be ‘okay’ again,” Steve said, making quotes with his fingers. “‘Course, you were always there for me, too,” Steve added, elbowing Bucky in the ribs gently.

 

Bucky looked confused as he said, “But I didn’t know you yet.”

 

Chuckling, Steve shook his head. “Nah, your music. I told ya the first night we met how you an’ your band helped me through tough times. Even when I was cryin’ as I sang along, somehow it made it a bit easier to bear.” Steve bit his lip, unsure if he was pushing too far with this next comment. “Since meetin’ you, you’re even better at helpin’ me through tough times. Not just the music- _you_.”

 

Bucky blinked at him. Opened his mouth, blinked again, before saying, “Um. Wow, I think… I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said ta me.” Steve smiled softly at him, still in disbelief how Bucky couldn’t see the value in his music. “‘m glad, Stevie. I’m glad I could help you out then, and I’m glad you’re here now.” He pulled Steve into a one-armed hug, Steve’s head resting on his shoulder.

 

They sat there for a few minutes, together and content, and Steve was loathe to break the comfortable silence. But he had a point with this whole conversation, and he needed to get it out. “Have… have you ever thought ‘bout goin’ back to therapy?” he asked hesitantly, not looking up at Bucky.

 

He could still feel the way Bucky tensed up under him. “No. Why would I?”

 

Steve almost heaved a sigh, just barely stopping himself. “I dunno. Just… you said you got nightmares, an’ you know that you usin’ all those drugs makes me worry….”

 

It was Bucky’s turn to heave a sigh. “Steve. I… appreciate the concern… but I’m a big boy. I can handle some bad dreams by myself.” Steve huffed a little, annoyance coursing through him, but didn’t say anything, waiting for Bucky to continue. “‘Sides, I got everythin’ under control. I don’t use nothing that I don’t know is clean, and I ain’t ever taken too much. I’m _fine_.”

 

The same old arguments, the same old excuses. Steve did sigh then, resisting the urge to hit Bucky’s arm that was around him. Bucky was so deep in denial about his issues that it would take a ten foot pole to get to any of them. But, because Steve at his core was a selfish man when it came to Bucky and his addicting scent and heat, he simply pressed himself against the singer, the two of them rocking in time with the sway of the bus.

 

**June 26 th\- The Woodlands, TX**

 

Steve had never been to Texas, but the first impression he got when he stepped off the bus was _hot_. Heat waves came off of every surface, the sun trying its best to bake and blind them. The pavilion they would be playing in was beautiful, though Steve hoped it wouldn’t be too hot to properly enjoy the concert tonight. He stretched, wincing at the pain going up his spine, and shivered as Bucky rubbed a large, warm hand up and down Steve’s back. He sent the brunet a small smile, to which Bucky winked, squeezing Steve’s side slightly and grinning when he yelped.

 

Although everyone was a bit cranky after spending so long on the bus, the day went fairly smoothly. While Steve stayed behind and did some sketching the band did some more press coverage, Bucky wearing a smile so fake that Steve winced when he saw it. Once Steve was satisfied with the work he had done- the new poster for the tour would look _amazing_ once it was full size- he escaped the slightly airless bus to go into the Pavilion to see if anyone needed help. As usual, most people had everything covered, so Steve wandered around, hoping to catch a glimpse of one of the band members so that he would have someone to talk to. Unfortunately, as one of the side doors to the backstage area slammed open, Steve saw someone he really _didn’t_ want to talk to.

 

Steve had never met Alexander Pierce before, had only seen a few pictures of him online. He was a hard man to miss, though, stalking through the backstage area like he owned everything (which, Steve added in his mind, he kind of did). He was wearing a beige three-piece suit, looking cool and polished, and he couldn’t be more different if he tried than all of the sweating crew members in their jeans and T-shirts. Though Steve had never allowed himself to be afraid of anyone in his life, he couldn’t help but swallow a bit thickly when he saw Pierce make a beeline straight for him. He wasn’t scared, just… intimidated, is all.

 

Pierce strode right up to Steve, thrusting his hand out for a firm, business-like shake. “So, you must be Steven, the… artist that James hired. Alexander Pierce,” he introduced, squeezing Steve’s hand far harder than necessary. His smile was perfectly pleasant, but it didn’t even come close to meeting his eyes; Steve repressed a shiver.

 

“Yes, I’m Steve Rogers. Bucky signed me on at the show in New York,” Steve replied carefully, not sure what the correct way to play this was. It was hard to get a read on the man; Steve immediately didn’t like him, but he couldn’t place what about the man was so off-putting. Wanda might have said something about his aura. Maybe it was Clint’s warning, or the way Bucky looked like a whipped dog whenever he spoke to Pierce on the phone.

 

Pierce chuckled drily. “ _Bucky_. That’s cute. I wish he would have spoken to me first about this. But what the hell, you’re already here.” Steve narrowed his eyes at the obvious insinuations of Pierce’s statement, but held his tongue, for once listening to his gut instincts warning him of danger.

 

Nodding slightly, Steve said, “Sorry, Mr. Pierce, it was a very sudden invitation. I didn’t have much time to deny. I think I’ve done well so far with the designs though; we’re sellin’ more merchandise than ever.” He launched his own subtle taunt in retaliation, and he felt far too pleased by the miniscule tightening around Pierce’s eyes.

 

“I bet we have,” he retorted smoothly, nodding as he put his arms behind his back. “Now, have you seen James anywhere?” Pierce asked, not even looking at Steve anymore. Just past Pierce, Steve could see Clint scowling ferociously at the business man, shaking his head sharply.

 

Steve shrugged, wearing his most apologetic face. “I’m sorry, I’m ‘fraid I haven’t.” Steve knew full well that Bucky was probably off in his dressing room, doing whatever it was he usually did right before a show. Which now possibly included getting high. “Maybe he’s gettin’ some last minute stuff off the bus?” he suggested. Clint gave him a thumbs up before the drummer quickly walked away before Pierce could see him.

 

Humming, Pierce gave Steve another once over. “Maybe. I’m sure I’ll see him around eventually. Nice talking to you, _Steve_.” With that less-than-savory tone to his voice Pierce was gone, strutting off in the direction of… _fuck_ , straight towards the dressing rooms. Steve slumped his shoulders, hoping that whatever Clint was worried about wouldn’t actually happen. _‘As if, Rogers.’_

 

Sure enough, twenty minutes later when Bucky emerged from his room, he looked pale and stressed, scratching harshly, subconsciously, at his left arm. Steve slipped past Maria to lean in close and whisper, “Hey, everythin’ alright? You look kinda… off.”

 

Bucky sent him a fleeting smile, before visibly smoothing his ruffled edges into the cocky rock persona that everyone knew and loved. “Jus’ peachy, Stevie. I see you met Pierce,” he added, deflecting slightly.

 

Wrinkling his nose, Steve nodded. “Unfortunately. I don’ think he likes me. I _know_ I don’t like him at all.” That got a chuckle out of Bucky, and Steve grinned at him. “Somethin’ ‘bout a guy wearin’ a three piece suit in Texas durin’ the middle’a summer just screams ‘douche bag’, I guess.”

 

Laughing louder, earning Steve a glare from Maria, Bucky pressed a lightning quick kiss to Steve’s forehead, the last bit of tension seeping from the singer’s shoulders. “I know whatcha mean, sweetheart. See ya after the show, Stevie,” Bucky drawled as Maria ushered the four musicians away. Steve was sure he looked pathetic, frowning as he stared sadly after Bucky; Steve had seen the tell-tale shaking in his features, the glassy look in his eyes.

 

However, tonight’s show wasn’t like the past few, where Bucky seemed glossed over and slightly muffled on stage. Tonight he was all over the place, tremoring and panting, practically shouting into the microphone. The crowd loved it, screaming the lyrics along with him as he tore at his guitar and constantly flicked his hair out of his face. He was out of his shirt by the fourth song, a new record (not that Steve was counting….), and to anyone who knew him he looked manic. It was good energy for a rock show, but it was anything but normal for Bucky, and he seemed unable to settle into his skin, even as the concert was nearing its end.

 

There was a beat of silence after the next song, Bucky panting harshly center stage, and Steve could see Clint silently counting off. The sudden noise was deafening, the pounding of the drums and the thrashing guitar chords of “[State of the Union](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4mVPyfJv_v0)” whipping everyone into a frenzy. Bucky left the simple guitar pattern to Natasha, gripping onto the microphone with both hands as he yelled the lyrics into the microphone, even jumping up and down to the music. The song was fast and angry, and seemed to perfectly fit Bucky’s mood.

 

_Countdown, to the very end._

_Equality, an invitation that we won't extend._

_Ready aim, pull the trigger now,_

_in time you firmly secure your place in hell._

_'Guilty' is what our graves will read,_

_no years, no family;_

_we did nothing to stop the murder of a people just like us._

Even Bucky seemed worn out after that song; Steve was exhausted just from watching him. The band played two more songs before clearing off the stage, drinking some water, and returning for an encore. By the time they were all off the stage for good, the audience still screaming for more, Steve was shifting restlessly from foot to foot, constantly scanning the backstage area so that he could spot Bucky the moment he appeared. He needed to make sure that the singer was okay, that Pierce didn’t hurt him, that he was coming down alright from whatever drugs he was on….

 

Steve finally spotted the group of musicians as they packed their instruments away, though as he headed in their direction Bucky split off and walking quickly to his dressing room. Steve couldn’t help but growl and throw his hands in the air in indecision; did he give Bucky the space he liked in his dressing room, or go after him anyway?

 

Natasha answered his question for him. “You need to go talk to him. That’s the worst I’ve ever seen him.” Clint and Wanda glanced between Natasha and Steve, looking for all the world like kids whose parents were fighting. Steve hesitated, eyes flicking back uncertainly towards the dressing room area. “I’m serious; whatever Pierce said to him when he was here earlier, or whatever new drug Pierce gave him… he needs you, Steve.”

 

It was startling to hear Natasha speak that plainly, and Steve blinked at her for a moment, though he had already come to a decision. He nodded as Natasha gave him a last searching look before pulling Wanda and Clint away by their arms. She was right; things were rapidly going downhill, and Steve was the only one Bucky didn’t automatically shut down. For now. He had to try, for the band’s sake, for Bucky’s sake. God, Steve was terrified out of his mind, but he had never backed away from a challenge before. So with a final deep breath, only slightly shaky, he strode off the find Bucky.

 

Steve walked into the dressing room without knocking, entering just in time to see Bucky unwind a rubber tourniquet from around his left arm, paraphernalia still clearly laid out on the table. Steve couldn’t help but freeze at the sight; how long had _this_ been going on? This was… this was another level of usage. Bucky seemed unbothered, simply glancing at Steve as he packed everything away into one of his overnight bags. Or maybe he was trying to pretend Steve hadn’t seen anything. “Buck,” he started.

 

“I swear ta god, Steve, if you ask me if I’m okay I’ll lose my fuckin’ mind,” Bucky snapped as he shouldered his bags.

 

Glaring right back at him, Steve squared his shoulders as he crossed his arms. “One, that wasn’t what I was gonna ask, asshole, so calm the fuck down. Two, you shouldn’t talk ta me like that, I’m your-” at that Steve stuttered, unsure of what to call their new relationship, especially on such rocky ground, “-friend, and I’m just lookin’ after ya. Three… why, Buck? When did that start?” he finished softly, gesturing at the previously occupied table.

 

Bucky huffed out a breath, answering in a mocking tone, “One, doesn’t matter, I still don’ wanna hear it. Two, maybe ya shouldn’t stick your nose where it don’t belong. Three, why does it matter?” The brunet made to push past Steve, as he always did, but Steve was faster. He reached behind and locked the door, placing himself firmly in front of the doorknob. Bucky growled, and Steve could see him twitching as he hissed, “ _Move_ , Steve.”

 

As he took a deep breath, reminding himself that he was here for a reason and it was _not_ the right time to be slightly turned on, Steve prayed to whoever was listening that he wasn’t going to get himself punched for this. Or fired. Or left behind. “I’m not gonna move ‘til we have a real, actual conversation about this, Bucky,” he declared, glaring at the taller man.

 

Ice-blue eyes narrowed at him. “About _what_?”

 

Bucky’s stubbornness inflamed Steve’s anger, and he snorted, setting his jaw. “Huh, maybe ‘bout how many pills you gotta take now just to fall asleep, or ‘bout how you’re gettin’ high _before_ shows now too, or maybe, I dunno, how you’re _injectin’_ shit now?” Steve was almost yelling by the end, struggling to keep his temper in check so that the conversation wouldn’t just immediately dissolve into a shouting match.

 

Unfortunately, it seemed like it was too late for that. “Fuck you, Steve, you don’ know _shit_ ,” Bucky shot back at him, the _thud_ of his dropped bags punctuating his statement as he straightened to his full height, looming over Steve. Luckily, Steve was used to facing down people twice his size, so Bucky didn’t intimidate him. Much. He didn’t think Bucky would hurt him, at least; behind the drugs he was a sweet man and a good… boyfriend… lover… partner.

 

“Fuck _you_ , Bucky,” Steve retorted, fists clenching, as much a way to channel his anger as to make himself focus. “Why can’t you see we’re all tryn’ ta help you? You ain’t sleepin’ much, you’re always on some kinda drug, you spend more time than not locked away _pretendin’_ to write-”

 

Bucky’s eyes flashed, and that was the only warning Steve got before Bucky was in his face, shouting back at him. “You ain’t my goddamn parent, Steve, and you sure as hell ain’t my keeper. Who died an’ put you in charge’a me?”

 

Steve threw his arms in the air, scrubbing at his hair. “No one _put me in charge of you_ , you bastard. I _care_ about you, I wanna see you _happy_ , why is that so fuckin’ hard ta understand?” His heart was pounding, both at the argument and Bucky’s sudden proximity.

 

“Because I don’t NEED your help, or anybody’s!” Bucky screamed back, slamming his right hand on the door next to Steve’s head, the blond barely able to stop himself from flinching. The brunet looked nearly unhinged, panting and twitching from whatever he’d taken, eyes fever-bright and face flushed from yelling. “I’ve survived more shit than anyone could, an’ I’m still here, ain’t I?”

 

At that Steve shouted wordlessly, gritting his teeth together. “Yea, cause’a Nat an’ Clint! Fuck, Bucky, you’re barely still here anyhow! Everyday you’re gettin’ worse, and I can’t stand it! None’a us can! You hafta let us help; don’t make us sit here an’ watch you waste away!”

 

At that Bucky flinched, expression sliding from infuriated to glacially cold. “So _sorry_ to be an _inconvenience_ to you guys,” he snarled, lips twisting. He pushed away from Steve and the door, walking a few steps away.

 

“That’s not what I meant, an’ you know it, jackass,” Steve hissed at his back. “I care about you, we _all_ care about you. You don’t hafta do this alone. I’m with you, ‘til the end of the line.” Steve’s voice faltered at the end, the amount of emotion behind his words surprising even him. “Bucky….” he continued, voice too soft for the argument they’d just been having. “Please. Please, lemme help you. Or someone else… go to therapy, or _somethin’_ ….” He was desperate, wanted Bucky to understand that he had people who wanted to help, people who loved him….

 

Bucky kept his back to him, shoulders slightly hunched, hands in tremoring fists at his side. “Just… go. I’ll see ya on the bus.” Bucky’s voice was tight, uncomfortable, impersonal. Steve swallowed heavily, unwilling to walk away, but he recognized a wall when he saw one. A quiet sigh left Steve’s mouth as he unlocked the door and walked out into the empty hallway.

 

The ride back to the hotel was silent, everyone tense and on edge. When they arrived at their room, Steve hesitated, unsure if Bucky would still want to share a room with him. Maybe Clint would have an extra bed in his room…. Bucky sighed and nudged Steve aside to open the door, holding it open and gesturing for Steve to go through. It was another one room suite, though this one had two double beds. Steve swallowed down acrid disappointment as he realized he probably wouldn’t get to sleep wrapped up in Bucky’s heat.

 

Though Bucky brushed a soft kiss on Steve’s head as he passed, Steve’s suspicions were confirmed as Bucky went straight to the far bed, sliding into the sheets and turning his back on Steve without comment. Steve closed his eyes for a moment, gathering himself and reminding himself that he was doing this for Bucky. He climbed into the other bed, unable to stop himself from whispering, “Good night, Buck,” biting his lip when he got no response.


	5. I Don't Wanna Be Here Anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky overdoses in this chapter, so if that is a difficult subject for you please proceed with caution <3

**June 27 th\- Dallas, TX **

Tonight’s show was much like the others had been recently, with Bucky hitting every word and note, yet preforming devoid of almost all of his passion. It almost hurt Steve to hear Bucky sing like this, so detached from his music. It wasn’t the same; the words held no power, Bucky wasn’t his usual vibrant presence up on stage, and the music didn’t tug at his emotions the way it always did. If this continued on for much longer, Steve would have to start hanging out with Maria, away from the stage where Bucky was simply going through the motions.

 

After the concert was finally over, Steve and the other band members hurried to get to Bucky’s dressing room before him. They had a plan, an intervention of sorts, to try and make Bucky see sense. They arranged themselves around the room, filled with nervous energy, more than one person tapping or fidgeting. Luckily they didn’t have to wait too long; within a few minutes Bucky walked in the door, freezing at the sight before him. Steve would’ve felt bad ambushing him like this, but desperate times….

 

“Um… hey, guys,” Bucky said, obviously startled to see everyone sitting on a counter or leaning against a wall in his dressing room.

 

“Bucky... sit down. We have to talk to you about something, and you’re not gonna like it, but it has to be done,” Natasha explained, pointing at the seat they’d left him, her firm voice leaving no room for questions. Bucky swept his gaze around the room once more before cautiously taking a seat, fingers tapping on his jean-clad thighs.

 

No one spoke for a moment, and Steve could see Bucky getting more and more agitated the longer they all just sat there. Clearing his throat, Steve said, “Buck... we wanted to talk to you about all of the drugs.” Steve inwardly winced at his bluntness, but he really couldn’t see a better way to start the conversation. Sam would’ve found some calm, caring way to ease into it…. God, Steve wished Sam were here. This is what he was good at, Steve wasn’t.

 

Bucky’s face immediately dropped from suspicious but calm to angry and defensive. “I don’t see what there’s to talk about,” he growled, crossing his arms.

 

Natasha sighed, and Clint held out a hand to make her pause. “Bucky, man, we’ve known you for _years_. This... this isn’t you. Getting high before shows, needing five pills at once to go to sleep, taking god knows what and injecting it....” Clint trailed off, shaking his head. “We’re worried about you, buddy.”

 

A scowl now on his face, hackles firmly raised, Bucky responded acidly, “Has my performance suffered? Have I messed up any shows? Have I hurt anyone else?”

 

“Well, no, but-” Wanda started.

 

“Then I ain’t seein’ how it’s any of your guys’ business what I do,” Bucky snapped, lip rising in a sneer. If it was any other situation, Steve would agree with him; people should be allowed to do whatever it was they wanted, as long as they weren’t hurting anybody, even if others didn’t like it. But this was Bucky’s health, his _life_ they were talking about, and he obviously wasn’t thinking clearly.

 

Frowning, Steve jumped in, “Buck, come on, it ain’t just about _what_ you’re doin’, it’s about how you’re doin’. You’re barely sleepin’, you’re always shakin’. We just want what’s best for you.” It sounded cliché, but it was honest, at least from Steve’s point of view.

 

“Well thanks, Lifetime Movie Network.” Bucky snorted, shoving up from his chair to pace around the small room, arms folded around himself. “I’m a grown-ass man, I know what I’m doin’. So I repeat, how the fuck is this your business?”

 

Natasha scoffed as she too crossed her arms. “Maybe because we’re your best friends? And we care about what happens to you?” she offered sarcastically.

 

“I’m fine,” Bucky retorted, making more than one person in the room groan. It was such a typical line that the phrase in and of itself was almost becoming a joke, Bucky peddling it over and over, the words becoming less and less believable each time.

 

No one responded right away, either too irritated with the constant brush offs or frustrated with the brick wall they were hitting. Biting her lip in an uncharacteristic display of uncertainty, Natasha continued speaking in a softer tone. “James... you haven’t been fine since you got back.” She pressed on, ignoring Bucky’s indignant snort. “You may be better in some ways, but in others you’re still suffering just as much as before, if not more. I can see it, we all can. We can _help_ you.”

 

Bucky grit his teeth, and Steve interrupted before Bucky could start yelling again. “Look, Bucky, it’s no secret that I care about you, I guess, and even though I haven’t known you for too long, I know Natasha is right.” He paused, glancing at Natasha and Clint, unsure of how to phrase this. “I dunno what you were like before, or even right after, you got back, but I know that this,” he gestured to Bucky picking continuously at his sleeve, at his overnight bag in which there was surely several different drugs, “ain’t right.”

 

Speaking through his teeth, fists now clenched, Bucky hissed, “Where do any of you get off on sayin’ what’s best for me, what I need?” Steve could already tell that they weren’t going to get through to Bucky, and as stubborn as Steve could be, he knew that they were just bashing themselves against the rocks here. It both saddened and frustrated him to no end, that one of the first people that Steve cared about this much in a long time would care so little about himself.

 

It made a sorry sort of sense, when Steve thought about it. Bucky had been through hell, almost losing life and limb in the desert when he was even younger than Steve was now. He’d come back home and struggled for months, even with the help of his two closest friends, hoping for some big break. When it came, Pierce had taken that chance to slowly worm his way into Bucky, to mold him to his liking, to get him hooked on things he didn’t need, just so Pierce could have his famous rock star to make money off of. It was more than enough to get Steve’s blood boiling, to see red, and he wanted to march right out to wherever Pierce currently was and smash his head in himself.

 

“Where do you get them?” Wanda suddenly asked. The question seemed to throw Bucky off, and he furrowed his brow, glancing at the younger woman. “Who gives them to you?” she elaborated. “We’re all together almost all the time, and I’ve never seen you actually go and get any of the drugs.” Steve nodded to himself, a little wide-eyed himself; it was a good question, especially seeing as Steve now spent even more time with Bucky than the others. The drugs seemed to just appear in Bucky’s bag, with no dealer in sight.

 

Anger hot in his eyes, Bucky said frostily, “That ain’t your business either.” The room fell into a prickly silence yet again, and Bucky crossed his arms once more, tapping his fingers against his sleeves. He glared at each of the others, everyone but Natasha breaking eye contact, before asking, “So, we finished here, or are we spendin’ the night in this fuckin’ dressing room?”

 

With grit teeth and thinned lips the band members slowly dispersed, Clint and Natasha hooking elbows as they walked off, Wanda giving Bucky one last wounded look. Steve hung behind, unsure if he should say anything else to the singer. But Bucky didn’t turn to face him, and his shoulders were a hard line as he asked coldly, “Was this your idea?”

 

Inhaling, anxiety threading through his chest despite himself, Steve replied, “Not completely. I mentioned wantin’ to do somethin’ to try and help you, and this is what we came up with.”

 

Bucky snorted scathingly and said, “Well, fantastic job. Now get the fuck outta my room, I’m ready to go back to the bus and sleep.” There was none of Bucky’s usual sarcasm or flippancy to the statement, and Steve felt his heart sink down to his feet. He slowly walked out, resisting the urge to look back at Bucky, and flinched when the door slammed shut behind him.

 

**June 28 th\- Austin, TX**

The drive to Austin was horrible. Bucky didn’t speak to anyone, staying curled in his bunk with his earphones jammed in. The whole ride was fraught with tension, everyone stuck in their own thoughts and worries. Steve could barely even sketch, everything he did turning out rough and too dark and not right. He scrapped a lot of paper before deciding to just stare out the window, feeling almost like he wanted to smash his head through it. He missed the easiness that came with being near Bucky, the constant touches and the silliness of his flirting. If it weren’t for the permanent damage they were surely doing to his body, Steve would almost want Bucky to stay on the drugs, just to keep him happier.

 

His melancholy thoughts lasted through the rest of the drive and into set up, even manual labor unable to completely distract him. Steve felt awful, thinking of himself at a time like this for Bucky, but he mourned the apparent loss of their short and fast relationship, and wondered if there would ever be a time when they could be together. He questioned how much of Bucky’s affection came from the drugs’ mood changes, and how often he actually saw the real Bucky. That thought process quickly turned his stomach, so he tried to focus on other things, anything. It didn’t quite work.

 

Before the concert Bucky still wasn’t speaking to anyone, and he disappeared into his dressing room as was now usual. Steve sat on the ground backstage and gnawed at his lip until it bled, sure he was giving himself a stomach ulcer with how much he was worrying. The actual show was rough, and though Bucky didn’t quite mess up his chords or miss lyrics, it was clear he was struggling. His eyes were too glazed, he was trembling too much, and he kept shaking his head like there was something stuck in his hair. The audience didn’t seem to notice anything wrong, but Steve saw that Bucky was having a difficult time focusing and getting through this. Steve couldn’t help but ache for him, to have music be the next thing his addiction took from him.

 

The opening chords to “[I Don’t Wanna Be Here Anymore](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dv_cvxAAZ-Y)” rang out, and Steve sighed, letting his head _thunk_ back against the wall. The song would always strike a chord for him, being one of the songs he had played most often when he felt his worst. It was a song about defeat and feeling too worn down, and Steve could relate to it just as well now as when he was in college.

_I don’t want to be here anymore._

_I know there’s nothing left worth staying for._

_Your paradise is something I’ve endured, whoa whoa._

_See I don’t think I can fight this anymore._

_I’m listening with one foot out the door,_

_but something has to die to be reborn._

_I don’t want to be here anymore._

 

Bucky sang it well, his hoarse voice soaring with the lyrics. It sounded almost worse this way, with Bucky singing so blandly, emotions hidden behind a film of narcotics. The song sounded more hopeless than normal, more angst-filled and rough than simply pleading. Steve supposed it fit, though he hoped that he was merely projecting his own feelings onto Bucky.

 

The show finished off without anything out of the ordinary happening, Bucky slinking off stage and hurrying off to his room without comment. Maria grimaced as she watched him go, but made no move to follow the singer. The crew and band started packing up, Bucky remaining absent, and no one was in too much of a hurry to be back on the bus for another night. Soon enough it was past midnight, everything was finally put away, and the crew were all heading out, jobs done for the night. There was still no sign of Bucky, and Maria was waiting impatiently with the other band members, tapping her foot.

 

Bucky was usually out of his room by now, walking to the bus with the band, arm around Steve’s shoulders. It was odd that he hadn’t reappeared yet, even though everyone else was by the bus and waiting. “Maybe you should go look for him,” Clint suggested, a frown on his face. Steve glanced at Natasha, and she nodded, the only sign of her concern the tight corners of her mouth. Gesturing to Maria to wait a minute before sending out a search party, Steve hurried off in the direction of the dressing rooms. He was oscillating between annoyance and worry. Annoyance because, most likely, Bucky had taken too many pills and was too high to come out to the bus, or he had lost something and couldn’t find it, therefore holding everyone up. But, a deeper part of Steve radiated anxiety, because this was so unlike Bucky, and it was unnerving, especially after the disaster that was last night.

 

He reached the closed door of Bucky’s room, and he knocked on it, calling out Bucky’s name. There was no answer, though the light was still on in the room. He knocked again, calling louder, and there was still no answer. Huffing in irritation, Steve tried the doorknob, surprised when he found it unlocked. Slowly pushing the door open just a few inches, annoyance making way for sheer worry now, he said softer, “Bucky?” Still no answer.

 

Steve pushed the door all the way open, and choked on a gasp. Bucky was sprawled on the floor, limbs splayed around him as if he’d simply fallen where he had stood. His head was tilted to the side, and it looked like there was vomit on the floor around him. His chest was barely rising and falling, and he looked pale and sick. Falling to his knees, Steve cried out for help, quickly gathering Bucky onto his lap, hands flitting desperately around his face. “Help, somebody help! Call 911!” Steve shouted, voice high and tight with fear. After what felt like too long he finally heard footsteps pounding down the hallway, and he felt weak with relief.

 

“It’s okay, Buck,” he whispered to Bucky’s unresponsive form, “we’re gonna get you help. We’ll get you to the hospital, and we’ll get you right. I’m so sorry, Bucky, ’m so sorry,” Steve kept whispering, rocking slightly back and forth with Bucky’s head in his lap. He almost didn’t want to let Bucky go once the paramedics arrived a few minutes later, but he knew somewhere under his terror that these people could do infinitely more for Bucky than he could.

 

He stood up to follow the stretcher, and Maria stopped him, an eyebrow raised. “Where are you going? The bus is ready to leave, you can go to him once he’s stable in the hospital.” Her tone was firm but kind, and Steve could see the shaken look in her eyes that told him she cared about Bucky more than as just his security head.

 

“I’m going in the ambulance with him.” Steve’s tone left no room for argument, and he glared daggers at Maria until she sighed sharply and moved aside. “Thank you,” Steve said in a rush, running to catch up to the paramedic team as they loaded Bucky into the back of the ambulance. He could see in his peripheral vision the rest of the band, standing in shock on the other side of the parking lot. Wanda was gripping tightly with both hands onto Clint’s left arm, while Clint’s right arm was hooked around Natasha’s shoulders. Natasha was watching, unmoving, and if Steve were closer he would see her limbs trembling and the shine of tears in her eyes.

 

An EMT held out his hand, stopping Steve. “Sorry buddy, family members only in the ambulance,” he said, voice firm but not unkind.

 

On the verge of tearing his hair out, Steve begged, “Please, you have to let me in there! He… he’s my boyfriend. He’s a vet, an’ he’s got PTSD. He almost lost his arm once, he’ll freak out if he wakes up alone! _Please_!”

 

The EMT looked unsure, wavering, but at a sharp call from another EMT already in the ambulance, he sighed. “Alright,” the EMT relented.

 

In a flash Steve was climbing into the ambulance, sitting down as directed on the bench, reaching forward to grab Bucky’s hand that wasn’t attached to the arm being stuck full of needles. “Hang on, Buck,” Steve whispered past the rock lodged in his throat. The ambulance took off, siren wailing, and though they must have been going over 100 miles per hour, all Steve could feel was Bucky’s cool hand. He looked half dead, with the ventilator pressed over his mouth, the needles in his arm, fitting in amongst barely visible track marks. Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling a tear escape. He angrily swiped at it; now was not the time for him to go to pieces. He had to be strong, for Bucky.

 

The scene at the hospital was chaotic. It was relatively empty when they arrived due to how late it was, so doctors swarmed Bucky’s gurney as soon as they arrived. He was whisked off into a room, and Steve was told to wait outside since he couldn’t enter the sterile environment. It was only the memory of his mother, the kind-hearted nurse who raised him to have better manners than this, that prevented him from screaming at them to let him in anyway. Instead he paced the hallway for the forty-five minutes it took to get Bucky stable. His phone was blowing up with questions from Maria and the band members, and he answered them as best as he could.

 

Finally, _finally_ , a total hour later, the same nurse came back and told Steve that he could follow her to see Bucky now. He practically sprinted down the hallway, limbs quivering with the desire to see Bucky again. However, once he got to the room, he felt like he was going to throw up. Bucky had tubes shoved in his throat and nose, IVs in both arms, and looked small and weak under the fluorescent lighting. Without his cocksure attitude and flirty one-liners, Bucky looked exactly like what Steve would describe him as: an exhausted and beaten-down man in desperate need of help.

 

He barely heard the nurse explaining his situation. “We aren’t sure what he took, and the drug tests won’t be back until the morning. But we pumped his stomach and have IV’s of both a saline drip for dehydration and a neutralizing, nutrient rich drip to counteract whatever drugs are still in his system. He’ll need to stay here for a few days, before it’s recommended that he check into a rehab facility.” Steve nodded numbly, unable to take his gaze off of Bucky’s face. Rehab would be good, he thought, if he- they- could get Bucky to stay there.

 

Managing to mumble a “Thank you,” to the nurse before she left, Steve sunk into the chair to the right of Bucky’s bed, careful to avoid the shunt in his hand as he took it in his own. “I’m sorry,” Steve whispered, gently kissing Bucky’s fingers. “‘m sorry it got to this point. I shoulda done more sooner. We’ll get you better, I promise.” There was no answer from Bucky, but some color was returning to his cheeks, and he seemed to be breathing steadier.

 

Steve didn’t know how much time had passed, but it was almost three in the morning when Clint, Natasha, and Wanda arrived. They all looked pale and drawn, and were silent upon entering. Steve saw Clint swallow hard, and Wanda was already crying. Natasha simply looked aged, like she had seen too much, and sat on the mattress on Bucky’s left side. “What’s the situation?” she asked, and she would almost have sounded calm except for the shake to her words.

 

Clearing his throat, Steve glanced up at her. “The nurse said they pumped his stomach and are givin’ him nutrient drips; that’s all they can do ‘til the drug tests come back.” Natasha nodded, eyes on the plain white sheets of Bucky’s bed. “Says he’ll stay here for a few days, before he can be checked into rehab.”

 

“Good. That’s good,” Clint spoke up from behind Steve, and Steve nodded.

 

“Can they make him? He will not go willingly,” Wanda added from where she was standing at the foot of Bucky’s bed, voice thick with unshed tears.

 

“There’s certain health standards in order to make it involuntary commitment, but I’m sure we could reach those with some slight stretchin’,” Steve answered, and Wanda nodded, chewing on her thumbnail. “It’ll be good for him. The rest of the tour’ll hafta be cancelled, but Bucky comes first.” The other band members nodded somberly in agreement.

 

They sat in silence around the room for the rest of the night, Clint only leaving once the sun came up to get coffee for everyone. No one much felt up to talking, and the one time a nurse came to kick them out because it wasn’t visiting hours, Natasha glared at her so coldly that Steve swore the room temperature dropped.

 

Around ten in the morning Maria stopped by, eyes red and hair falling out of its usual bun, looking like she hadn’t slept all night. She told Natasha, Clint, and Wanda that they had to make a statement, but they could come back after they were done. Natasha looked murderous, and Wanda and Clint vigorously protested, but Maria ultimately managed to drag them away. Steve promised about ten times to send them any updates, and then the room was as silent as before.

 

Steve couldn’t think straight, his thoughts swirling murkily around in his mind in a storm of worry and fear. How could it have gotten this bad? Well, that was a dumb question- it was obvious _how_. No one had taken this seriously enough to do anything drastic, when clearly something drastic had been needed. God, Bucky had been just screaming for help, and though people heard it, they never did anything about it. It was enough to make Steve sick, to hate himself and the other band members, to wish he could turn back time and do more for Bucky when he had had the chance. His thoughts continued on like this, and he lost track of time, staring blankly at Bucky’s limp hand in his.

 

Bucky woke up around eleven thirty, at first the only sign of his consciousness the fluttering of his eyelids. The sight was enough to make Steve want to leap for joy. “Bucky?” Steve said, pitching his voice low and trying not to shout and cry and laugh. Bucky groaned past the tube in his mouth, and the heart rate on his monitor spiked alarmingly. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Steve said soothingly, leaning forward to place a hand on Bucky’s cheek. Gray-blue eyes shot over to him, confusion followed by relief spreading through them. “It’s alright, you’re in the hospital. I’ll call the nurse and they can remove the tube, okay?” Bucky nodded slightly, then winced as if the movement was too much.

 

Steve pressed the Call Nurse button, shooting off a quick text to Natasha as he waited for the nurse. Once she arrived she was all hustle and bustle, flitting around Bucky, taking measurements, checking cuffs and drips, and then finally removing the tube. She handed Steve a cup full of ice chips, with instructions to give them to Bucky slowly, so as to not overwhelm his stomach. Steve nodded, itching for her to leave so he could have privacy with Bucky. She gave him a few more instructions for his IVs, and told him when doctors would be in to examine him and such, and Steve felt like a bobble head he was nodding so much. He could see Bucky clenching and unclenching his fingers, and he must be an anxious wreck; the last time he had woken up in the hospital he had almost lost his arm.

 

Finally the nurse left, and Steve just stared at Bucky, who was resolutely avoiding eye contact. “Buck,” Steve started, and Bucky flinched, looking miserable.

 

“‘m sorry,” Bucky whispered, throat rough from everything that’d happened.

 

That wasn’t what Steve had been expecting, but he tried to roll with it, to stay with Bucky. “It’s okay. Well, it ain’t okay, but now we can work on gettin’ you better, right?” Bucky didn’t answer, and Steve sighed, shoving an ice chip at Bucky for him to swallow. There was silence for a moment as Steve tried to gather his thoughts. “Bucky… you really scared us back there.” Bucky still didn’t respond, staring at the white wall in front of him like it was the most interesting painting on Earth.

 

Voice growing stronger with impatience, Steve continued to speak. “I thought you said you were fine? That you knew what was in your drugs, that you wouldn’t take too much? Bucky, I was never okay with you doin’ ‘em, but I at least wanted to give ya the dignity of your choice on how to live your life. But I thought… well, I guess I dunno what I thought.” Steve swallowed hard, feeling tears sting his eyes and clog his throat. “We… we almost lost you, Bucky. Wanda was cryin’, Clint was heartbroken, and Natasha… she looked like the world had fallen on her shoulders.”

 

Bucky inhaled shakily, hands again clenching weakly at his sides. “You don’t gotta tell me how much I screwed up, okay? I _know_.” He swallowed, eyes closing. “I’m sorry. I am. I… I don’t know what happened. The intervention, then a rough show, an’ then… I don’t remember.” Bucky made eye contact with Steve for the first time, and Steve lost the fight against his tears as he saw the brokenness in Bucky’s gaze.

 

Reaching for Bucky’s hand again, Steve pulled it to his chest, trying to regulate his breathing to keep from escalating into full blown sobs and an asthma attack. “ _I_ almost lost you, Buck. You make me so happy, and I wanna make you happy too, and- and-” Steve shuddered, attempting to control himself. This was the most honest with his feelings he’d ever been, especially with Bucky, and this was not the right setting for all of that. “I really, really don’t want anythin’ bad to happen to you. I don’t want this to happen again. _Please_.”

 

Bucky’s free hand reached up to push Steve’s overgrown fringe off his forehead. The older man still looked shaken, eyes too shiny to be normal, lips trembling slightly. “Okay,” Bucky mumbled. “Okay, Steve.” Steve wasn’t sure what that meant, but he clung to it all the same, kissing Bucky’s hand again. It wasn’t a promise, but it was a start, and Steve would have time to push for more.

 

The door burst open not seconds later, and Steve let go of Bucky’s hand to quickly wipe at the tears still on his face. Natasha, Clint, and Wanda all ran in, crowding around the bed. They were all talking at once, everyone looking relieved but well on their way to pissed.

 

“Bucky, I’m so glad you’re okay. Are you feeling better? God, I hate you!” Wanda burst out, expression stuck between glaring and teary-eyed. Bucky reached out to grab her hand, giving it a soft squeeze.

 

“You scared the shit out of me, dude, what the fuck!” Clint said heatedly while knuckling at his eyes. Bucky gave him a smile and signed _Love you too, asshole_ , making Clint laugh, even if it was watery.

 

Natasha growled harshly at Bucky in Russian, making Steve jump, and Bucky actually shrunk down in his bed at whatever she was saying, looking even more miserable than before. He replied softly in Russian, and whatever he said must have softened Natasha, because she then leaned down to brush a kiss on his head.

 

Once everyone had calmed down, they all circled around the bed, staring expectantly at Bucky. He swallowed thickly, taking the cup of ice chips that Steve handed him, refusing to look up from the bedsheet over his legs. It was a few minutes before he spoke, his voice only a whisper. “I’m sorry, you guys. I fucked up. Big time.” It was the smallest Steve had ever heard Bucky sound, and it crumbled his heart into even more dust.

 

“No shit,” Natasha replied, but it wasn’t a barbed comment.

 

A small smile twitched across Bucky’s face, disappearing as quickly as it came. “I… I’m sorry this happened now, in the middle of our tour. I promise I’ll be back on my feet in no time, and we ca-”

 

“We can do _what_?” Wanda interrupted, voice cutting. “As soon as you’re ‘back on your feet’, you’re going to rehab, Bucky.” She glared at him, and it was the meanest look Steve had ever seen on her.

 

Bucky didn’t seem to get the message. “Yea, sure, when we’re done with the tour,” he said, slightly uneasy, as if suddenly unsure of what the plan actually was. He picked at his blanket, and Steve resisted the urge to reach out and grasp his hand again.

 

Clint was already shaking his head. “Nope. Your rehab starts ASAP, Bucky. You obviously need it.” He grimaced apologetically, but the set of his shoulders and his chin tipping high showed that he meant business.

 

Now Bucky was getting angry, brows furrowing and upper lip curling. “I’m not going to _leave_ in the middle of a fuckin’ _tour_ , Clint. I need to-”

 

Natasha’s calm voice cut through the rising argument. “Yes, you are, James.” Bucky froze, mouth slightly open as he stared at Natasha. “This has gone far enough. We’ve all seen how much worse things have gotten, so you’ll be going to rehab, and then to therapy, to get better.”

 

“Nat, come on,” Bucky pleaded, voice pitching higher, panic now entering his wide eyes. Steve wasn’t sure what scared Bucky more- having to cancel the tour, having to truly face his problems, or having to give up his drugs. “The _tour_ , our fans-”

 

“None of that matters without you.” Natasha’s voice was cold and biting, like winter sweeping over them. “Steve’s only known you for less than a month, and even he saw how bad it was.” Bucky shot Steve a look of betrayal, but Steve held firm, setting his jaw. Natasha kept speaking, voice falling a bit softer. “James… you almost died. We just want you to be safe and healthy.”

 

Silence fell again as Bucky stared at the blankets, jaw working furiously. Half a minute passed before he sighed, shoulders slumping, suddenly looking weary beyond his years. “I’d like you all to go now, please,” he mumbled, not meeting anyone’s eyes. The group hesitated, thought after a moment everyone slowly started to gather their things, shuffling towards the door.

 

Steve hung back for a few seconds, loathe to leave Bucky alone in the hospital. Bucky sighed again, reaching out to grab Steve’s hand and pull it towards him to kiss it. “I just need some quiet, doll,” he murmured. Steve nodded unhappily before bending to kiss Bucky’s cheek.

 

“If you need anything, anythin’ at all, call me,” Steve ordered. Bucky nodded, fiddling with the cup of partially-melted ice. Steve turned and left, gnawing anxiously at his lip the whole way out to the bus and all the way back to the hotel. It burned him to leave Bucky behind like that, but it was his choice to want to be alone. Steve tried not to let it hurt; it obviously wasn’t personal, he had kicked out the whole band. But Steve couldn’t help the tiny voice in his mind that whispered that he should have been the one person allowed to stay.

 

They didn’t manage to return to see Bucky until after dinner time, where Steve’s stubbornness and Natasha’s icy demeanor once again allowed them to waltz in and ignore visiting hours. Steve was practically bouncing on his toes with eagerness to see Bucky, while at the same time telling himself that it was ridiculous that he was this excited to see him. It had barely been seven hours! He still couldn’t stop the racing of his heart, or untangle the knots in his stomach. It was pathetic, honestly.

 

Once they entered the room, however, Steve’s good mood evaporated like so much morning dew. Bucky was huddled in a ball, knees drawn to his chest, staring blankly at the wall before him. He looked the same as this morning health-wise, not great but not dead, but now his whole body screamed defeat. Steve was the first to speak, stepping forward to lightly brush Bucky’s right arm. “Buck? You alright?” His heart clenched as Bucky flinched from the contact.

 

Bucky took a deep breath, dragging his eyes from the wall to meet Steve’s and unfolding his legs with a seemingly huge effort. “Yea, ‘m fine, Stevie,” voice just as hoarse as it had been earlier. Steve stared him down, planning to wait him out until he provided a real answer. Steve had learned his lesson; no more of these half-answers and pretending bullshit. Rolling his eyes, Bucky tacked on, “Had a visit from Pierce, is all. Just a bit… worried ‘bout stuff.”

 

Steve could practically feel the instant tension these words caused from the group behind him. “What’d that asshole want?” Clint asked venomously. Anyone who caused such a lovable man as Clint Barton to sound like that Steve really didn’t want the pleasure of meeting again.

 

Shrugging, Bucky mumbled something into his chest. Steve frowned, asking him to repeat it as he bent forward, putting his better ear closer to Bucky. Huffing slightly, Bucky repeated louder, “Pierce said the tour’s gotta continue, so he’s pushin’ rehab ‘til after it’s over.” His statement was met with the loudest silence Steve had ever heard, sudden disbelief and anger practically thrashing the space between them.

 

“He said _what_?” Natasha asked, voice low and deadly, and if that voice had been aimed at Steve he would’ve shit his pants. As it was, he could only stare in shock at Bucky, unable to believe that Pierce- that Bucky- would think that this idea was in any way okay. Pierce, and by extension Bucky, was ready to just throw Bucky’s health into the gutter- no, it was already in the gutter, now they wanted to set it on fire- just to make more money. Steve, who had been saddled with a list of health problems as long as his arm for his whole life, couldn’t believe that someone would willingly destroy their body this much.

 

But, he thought, he hasn’t been through the mental strife that Bucky has. There was more to the singer than met the eye, Steve had very clearly seen that to be true.

 

Steve noted that Bucky was much twitchier than earlier; he must be starting to feel the effects of over twelve hours without any drugs. Looking trapped, Bucky shrugged again, eyes darting around and avoiding any contact. “He wants to continue the tour. Says we just started, so we can’t quit now. He’s gonna use his lawyers if there’s any trouble with me waitin’ to do rehab, and said as long as I’m more careful-”

 

Wanda’s shocked outburst interrupted his ramblings. “No! There’s no ‘being more careful’. What the hell, Bucky? Why would you agree to that?”

 

Setting his jaw, making eye contact for the first time that evening, Bucky replied unsteadily, “I don’t wanna leave the tour.” Steve’s heart broke for what felt like the tenth time today; Bucky still looked so much smaller than he was in that sterile white bed, looking shaken but so determined. It drew too many parallels to Steve’s childhood, where he used to end up in one of these rooms several times a year. He shook his head slightly, zoning back into the conversation that had now turned into an argument.

 

“-want you to be safe, Bucky. We don’t give a fuck about the tour if it ends up with you dead,” Clint said bluntly, almost yelling at this point.

 

Natasha chimed in, “I know you care about the band and our fans, Bucky, but you _have_ to put yourself first. This is serious shit-”

 

Something desperate flashed in Bucky’s eyes, and then he yelled, “Music is all I have!” It startled everyone into silence, Clint and Natasha looking hurt and Wanda and Steve looking heartbroken. Bucky took a deep breath, continuing slightly more calmly, voice shaking, “If I can’t play… I won’t have anythin’ left. It’s the only thing keepin’ me going. I can’t….” He broke off, wiping angrily at his eyes, leaning forward so his hair obscured his face.

 

Steve leaned forward and put a hand on the back of Bucky’s neck, feeling minute shivers wrack his frame. “Bucky. You got us, too- please don’t ever forget that,” he murmured. Bucky didn’t respond, and Steve could see him shoving everything back under that blasé mask. “You don’t gotta do this. Pierce isn’t all knowin’, or always right, or whatever. You need to call your own shots.”

 

Still staring off into the middle distance, Bucky simply replied, “The tour continues. That’s my decision, that’s what we’re doin’, like it or not.” He slumped to lay back down on his bed, the dark purple shadows under his eyes looking like bruises, fingers visibly shaking. Steve wanted to scream, to throw something, to break something, but Bucky was resolute. Even in his exhausted state, Steve could see that there would be no moving Bucky’s choice. For one of the first times in his life, Steve felt true hopelessness engulf him, and he felt like nothing he did would ever be enough. In the end, Bucky would destroy himself, and they would all be forced to watch.

 


	6. Survivor & Tragedy + Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More non-explicit injecting in this chapter.
> 
> Also brief mentions of suicidal thoughts/ideation.

**July 5th**

 

Bucky stayed in the hospital for almost a week. Maria had helped the band issue a statement, though they had chosen to hide the true nature of the problem, simply saying that Bucky had fallen severely ill. Fans were offered raincheck tickets or full refunds for each of the four shows that the band had had to cancel in that time, but most people took it well, hundreds of people even posting or writing in get well wishes. It was times like this that made Steve pause and really look at his life, because he couldn’t even imagine having ten people care that much about him, let alone hundreds or thousands. It was as mind-boggling as it was abstract to Steve, but Bucky took it in stride, shrugging and looking slightly embarrassed. Whether or not that was due to the amount of attention or to the fact that his fans didn’t really know what had happened, Steve didn’t want to examine.

 

Bucky still refused any sort of help, even basic counseling or Addicts Anonymous groups. Steve watched as each day he started to shake more, grew paler and sweatier, going through such obvious signs of withdrawal. Luckily he hadn’t been injecting every day for too long, comparatively, so he wasn’t running fevers or throwing up, but the singer was obviously miserable. Steve, no matter how much he knew that this plight was Bucky’s own doing, still ached for him, wishing that he could take all his pain away. Whenever Steve offered his apologies, or voiced his concerns, Bucky always waved them away uncomfortably, saying through clenched teeth how it wasn’t Steve’s fault.

 

While that may be true, it still angered Steve that, even after all of this, Bucky still refused to talk to a single other person about any problems further than skin deep.

 

Steve wasn’t allowed to stay in the hospital at night- the band had more than used up their freebie passes to ignore the rules on their first day here- but whenever he showed up again the next morning, Bucky looked like he had barely managed any sleep. Steve would be hit yet again with a wave of guilt, since Bucky himself had said how bad his nightmares could get. And, as always, Steve would wish that he could simply let Bucky keep taking his drugs, just to allow him some peace at night. If only there wouldn’t be so many other, dire consequences for Bucky.

 

The other band members cycled in and out of the hospital during Bucky’s stay, usually only one or two at a time. Steve was embarrassed to say that he didn’t know what they did in their free time away from the hospital. They didn’t talk much when they were together in the room, and it wasn’t like Steve had had a chance to explore the town to know what there even was to do. Steve himself only went back to the hotel to sleep or to pace; this wasn’t exactly a vacation for him.

 

However, Steve knew that one week wasn’t enough to break an addiction like this, not even close. Especially one as physically and mentally demanding as Bucky’s. So Steve knew that once Bucky got out of here, once he was free to go and do as he wished once more as the tour continued, he very well might go straight back to downing pills like there was no tomorrow. And unless they hired a 24/7 babysitter, there wasn’t any way to prevent Bucky from doing all of that at any point that he was alone. Steve knew Bucky would never allow that, and there was only so much time that Steve could conceivably spend with Bucky before the singer grew too suspicious. Or annoyed.

 

Now more than ever Steve wished for Sam’s advice. He hadn’t had a chance to call his best friend since this had all started, either spending all day at Bucky’s bedside where he couldn’t exactly gossip to Sam _about_ Bucky, or going back to their cheap, nearby motel to sleep for a few hours. But Sam would know what to do, would know what to say to Bucky or how to handle his recovery surely more successfully than Steve did. Hell, even Peggy would’ve been more useful than Steve then; she may not have had a way with words quite like Sam, but she always knew the right thing to say in the moment, and her fiery spirit encouraged even the most dampened moods to ignite once again. She inspired hope, for which Steve had always admired her.

 

Steve had finally had a chance to call Sam and Peggy the third day of Bucky’s stay in the hospital. Both Clint and Wanda had come to stay with Bucky, and had bullied Steve out of the room to go find a meal that wasn’t “cheap and plastic cafeteria food”, as Wanda had put it. So, in a little bistro just down the street from the hospital, Steve had decided that it had been as good a time as any to get a word in with his oldest friends. Settling down more comfortably in his metal chair, half eaten sandwich wilting in front of him, he’d taken a deep breath and dialed Sam’s number, prepared to get a verbal beat down for not calling earlier.

 

“STEVE, WHAT IS _HAPPENING_ DOWN THERE?!” Sam had yelled as soon as he’d picked up, startling- but not really surprising- Steve. He had thought he could hear Peggy yelling indistinguishably in the background, something that was confirmed as Sam had added, “Also, Peggy wants me to tell you that ‘you are officially _not_ her Gay Best Friend anymore if you can’t even give her the basic gossip’.”

 

Petulantly, Steve had grumbled, “Well if she’s gay too then I’m just her best friend, and there’s really no difference.” Sam had _pff_ ed, and Steve could’ve pictured him waving his hand and rolling his eyes. Just like that, Steve had been hit with a wave of homesickness so hard that he’d closed his eyes tightly against the prickle of tears. “God, ‘s really good to hear your guys’ voices,” he had admitted, voice rougher than he would’ve liked.

 

“Aw,” Sam had said, real warmth creeping into his voice, “we miss you too, Steve. Now,” he had paused dramatically, “spill.” Steve could hear the click that meant he was now on speaker phone, so surely Peggy was listening in too. Possibly even her girlfriend Angie, if she had been visiting Sam as well.

 

That was all it had taken for Steve to tell them everything that had happened, from their first date to their first time having sex, all the way through the intervention-gone-wrong and Bucky’s overdose, finishing with how Pierce was making the band continue with their tour anyway. Steve had been slightly ashamed when he had realized just how much he’d missed telling his friends, simply because he had been so wrapped up in all of the drama here. Which, when it was all laid all out like this, had sounded like some ridiculous soap opera. How had this become his life?

 

There had been a few moments of silence on the other hand while Steve had picked at his forgotten sandwich. “Woah,” Sam had finally said. “That’s a whole lotta shit to be carrying around.”

 

“I’ll say,” Angie had added, and okay, she was present.

 

Sighing, Steve had said, “I know. He’s supposed to be leavin’ the hospital in like three days, and I feel like nothin’ is gonna change. He’ll just go back to takin’ pills and gettin’ high, just ‘cause he’s getting a freebie here.” Steve had huffed in frustration, raking his fingers through his too long hair. “Everyone is so sure that Pierce is the one givin’ him the damn drugs in the first place, but we don’t have any proof at all on him, so we can’t _do_ anything about it. I just want Bucky to understand that people fuckin’ _care_ about him but he refuses to believe it-”

 

A laugh tremoring under his words, Sam had interrupted him. “Woah, woah, slow down there, Fireball.” Steve had huffed, but did take a deep breath, creaking lungs protesting their abuse. “Now,” Sam had said, therapist voice on, “tell me what _your_ problem is. Because, playing Devil’s Advocate here, Bucky is a grown ass man, and he’s responsible for his own health.”

 

“You can’t save everyone, Steve,” Peggy’s smooth voice had sounded.

 

“I know that!” Steve had protested, even though it was the same excuse he had been trying and failing to tell himself all month. “It’s just…” Steve knew, probably somewhere in the back of his mind, _exactly_ why he cared so goddamn much about Bucky Barnes, the broken, talented, amazingly strong singer. But he had shied away from that, the _something_ too big to deal with alongside everything else, and had gone with the simpler explanation. “It’s like he refuses to believe he’s got anyone there to help him. He’s destroyin’ himself, and I can’t just sit by an’ watch. My mom didn’t raise me like that,” Steve had thrown in at the end, knowing his friends had loved his mom just as much as he had.

 

He could hear more than one sigh through the line. “Steve, man, sometimes, I don’t think he’s the kind you save,” Sam had said, sounding regretful. Steve had swallowed hard, feeling like razors were going down his throat. “He has to want to change, and to me, it sounds like he doesn’t want to even try.”

 

“You’re doing all that you can, darling,” Peggy had added, the softness in her voice making Steve bite his lip against the sting of more tears. “No one could argue for any less. Keep trying, we’re not saying give up, but… Sam is right. You have your own life, and no matter how hard you try, it will still be on Bucky to choose.”

 

He knew they were right, Steve knew beyond a doubt that what they were saying was logical and mature. But he still believed that he could get through to Bucky, somehow, some way. Digging his fingernails into his palm, he had said, “Alright, well thanks, guys. It’s my shift to visit Bucky so I gotta go.” He’d hung up without saying goodbye, feeling prickly yet childish, and had dropped his head into his hands. Hearing their voices had made him feel better, but hearing what they’d said had just made everything worse. So he had heaved a deep breath, cleaned off his table, and returned to the hospital, already putting their words in the back of his mind.

 

There was also a problem with the paparazzi. Once the press got word of where in the state Bucky was located, they were ceaseless in their efforts to find him. They were successfully, but barely, kept out of the hospital, and once someone figured out where Bucky had been held, thankfully the band was already packing up and moving on, their singer back on his feet and somewhat healthy. They got on the bus safely under the cover of night, Bucky surrounded by the other band members and his security team. Instead of staying in their hotel and testing their chances of being caught by the press, they decided to stay on the bus, all the better to get their long drive to California started in the morning.

 

As they were all settling into the bus, Steve was surprised as Bucky cornered him in the back by the bathroom, pressing him gently against the side of the bus. “I ain’t had a chance to thank you yet, for comin’ to find me and callin’ the medics,” Bucky murmured, looking much better after a real meal and a shower after leaving the hospital. Before Steve could respond, Bucky leaned forward, slotting their mouths together for their first real kiss in over two weeks.

 

Despite the anxiety still running through Steve at Bucky’s state of mind and all of the stress of the past week, or maybe because of it, Steve immediately melted into the kiss. Wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, shoving his tongue into Bucky’s mouth, twirling around the metal stud in Bucky’s. One of them moaned softly, Steve wasn’t sure who, and then suddenly Natasha was yelling at Bucky in Russian and Clint was throwing pillows at them with deadly accuracy. They chuckled as they pulled away from each other, Steve whispering “Anytime, Buck,” and Steve couldn’t help the tendril of hope that came back to life in his chest.

****

**July 6th- Concord, CA**

 

Bucky was silent during most of the drive from Texas to California, not sulking like he had been after the intervention, but more so simply keeping to himself. It made Steve uneasy, because it was hard enough to tell what Bucky was thinking even when he was actually talking to you, but now Steve had no idea what was going on in that pretty head of his. Did he regret what he did? Did he actually want to do the tour, or was he again following whatever Pierce had told him? Would he try to heal himself, or had he already given up on that front? Was he already back on his drugs? All of his shaking and sweating had stopped, so Steve assumed yes, though it must be a low amount since Bucky mostly seemed at equilibrium. It made Steve’s chest and head ache to think about all of the many factors, so instead he focused on his drawing during the hours on the road.

 

It was a long two day drive, especially with everyone so worn down after all that had happened recently. Sometimes Bucky would come sit near Steve, watching him draw and offering a comment every so often. Those were Steve’s favorite times, because he could sometimes manage to get a laugh or at least a smile out of Bucky. Other times Bucky would retreat to his bunk, and simply listen to music, face calm and fingers tapping out notes or beats. He wasn’t particularly affectionate, past those first few minutes on the bus, but Steve preferred to think that that was because they were surrounded by the band members, and Steve, at least, liked his privacy.

 

The other band members floated around the bus during the drive, occasionally playing cards or putting a movie on the small flat screen installed on one wall. Wanda knitted, Clint fiddled with some arrows from the archery kit he took to shooting ranges, and Natasha practiced guitar, sometimes writing out new melodies for future songs. Though it was a quiet and somewhat uncomfortable drive, everyone on egg shells, it was a nice reprieve from all the craziness and the drama that had been happening over the last month. They all still celebrated when they final turned into the city limits, however, slapping high fives with each other and pointing out buildings or shops that they most likely wouldn’t have time to visit. Bucky simply smiled at Steve as he settled into the seat next to him at the table, headphones securely around his ears under the hood of his sweatshirt. Steve told himself that it was enough.

 

Tonight’s concert was the first one since Bucky had gone to the hospital, and to say Steve was nervous was an understatement. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the band, or that he thought that they were going to mess up, but it was a nerve-wracking event all the same. This concert would get that much more attention and coverage, that many more recordings online, and the band was already stressed out enough as it was. Bucky especially didn’t need any more added pressure, and Steve did his best to reassure him as he followed Bucky from his dressing room to where the band was gathering to walk on stage.

 

“Just… relax, and do your thing. You got this, completely, and you’re gonna do so well tonight, Buck,” Steve repeated, lightly touching Bucky’s right arm as they walked. They hadn’t _talked_ , per se, about what Bucky was going to do now, if he still had drugs on him, if their relationship was still okay…. For all the courage Steve had, he was _not_ good at talking to people, and so was trying to make his way around the issues without blatantly bringing it up. Which was proving difficult.

 

Bucky halted, spinning to face Steve. “Hey, baby, I know. No pressure, no one’s expectin’ a wild show, blah blah blah. I’ll be fine, I promise,” he said, laying his hand against Steve’s cheek. Steve subconsciously leaned into it, and Bucky smiled brightly at him before leaning in to kiss him soundly. He then quickly turned and trotted towards the stage entrance, leaving Steve blinking dazedly, fingers touching his lips and a small grin creeping across his face.

 

Bucky’s strangely euphoric, loving mood seemed to last throughout the concert, because two thirds of the way through the show he paused to speak between songs. “This song is about love, even when it’s difficult, and knowing when it’s real versus superficial, when to hold on or to let go.” He then glanced back at the eaves, shooting Steve a tiny, super-fast salute, before starting to strum and sing the opening verse to “[Savior](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e8X3ACToii0)”.

 

Steve could feel himself flushing as red as a tomato, and looking surreptitiously around to make sure no one was paying him any attention. God, this song wasn’t even supposed to be a true love song, but the fact that Bucky was singing it _to_ Steve at all made Steve hope way too much for their future that may or may not exist. Steve still didn’t know Bucky’s true feelings about him, or how long he planned to keep Steve around after this tour, but as Bucky’s voice belted out the lyrics, the purposeful strain to his voice adding weight to the words, Steve felt warm from his head to his toes.

_And the day pressed on like crushing weights,_

_for no man does it ever wait,_

_like memories of dying days_

_that deafen us like hurricanes._

_Bathed in flames we held the brand,_

_uncurled the fingers in your hand_

_pressed into the flesh like sand._

_Now do you understand?_

Bucky sang with a slight grin on his face, eyes sparkling under the stage lights. The rest of the band was in high spirits as well, arms and fingers flying around their instruments, back-up vocals energetic and perfectly harmonized. The crowd was loving it, eating it up, and Bucky occasionally pointed at people as he sang, or tossed out winks. His antics made Steve grin wider, and he nodded along from his spot in the eaves.

_So tell me now,_

_if this ain’t love then how do we get out?_

_Because I don’t know._

_That’s when she said I don’t hate you boy,_

_I just want to save you while there’s still something left to save._

_That’s when I told her I love you girl,_

_but I’m not the answer for the questions_

_that you still have, whoa, whoa_

 

Steve didn’t get a chance to talk to Bucky about it until they were on the bus; they played an encore, Bucky went off to his room to pack his stuff, and then they had to help pack up the backstage and get everything ready to travel again. Steve didn’t really know what to say, not wanting to sound like an idiot, or scare Bucky away. Once they were seated on the couch, pressed together from knee to torso, Steve hesitantly said, “I do love that song, Savior. It’s a good mix of serious lyrics and upbeat music.”

 

Bucky beamed at him disarmingly, simply saying, “I’d hoped so,” before pulling Steve even closer with an arm around his shoulders. Steve soaked in his warmth and his smell, almost as familiar as home now, feeling supremely glad that he was still allowed to have this, to have Bucky. He was also emphatically glad that Bucky seemed to be recovering, and he was seeing some of the kindness and caring that Bucky had under all of his complicated layers. And God, was Bucky being sweet tonight. Steve almost managed to forget the drugs, the overdose, the refusal to go to rehab. Almost.

 

Bucky kept his arm hooked around Steve the entire bus ride to the hotel, fingers playing with the short hairs behind Steve’s ears, making the blonde shiver. They talked about little, inconsequential things, like they had when they’d first met two short months ago. They talked about their favorite superheroes, what foods they hated, and what constellations they still remembered. It was one of the best nights Steve could remember, and when they got back to the hotel only to have slow, teasing, and _fantastic_ sex, it just got even better.

 

It was an amazing night… until Steve caught himself thinking _Love you, too,_ when Bucky pulled Steve’s back into his chest and wrapped an arm possessively around Steve’s waist. The words threw a bucket of cold water all over Steve’s post-orgasmic glow, and his drooping eye-lids popped open, his heart picking up pace again. Fuck, he _loved_ Bucky.  It had only been a couple of months! They had been through more in those two months than most couples go through in a year, but Steve didn’t even know if they were an official couple; he hadn’t felt the need to demand clarification in his relationship with a world famous rock star. But now this was making him panic, because surely, this could only end in heartbreak.

 

Bucky could surely have anyone he wanted, he had no reason to want to keep Steve around, especially once all of the new designs were done. There would always be more tours, more towns, more people to meet. But more than that, Steve had seen firsthand how unstable and unpredictable Bucky could be, and it scared him more than he’d like to admit. Bucky was being so loving tonight, but Steve hated that he didn’t know if it was Bucky himself or this was thanks to some new drug he’d gotten from Pierce. He hated not knowing if Bucky was safe, that any day he could do some irreparable damage to himself. Everything was so unknown, and Steve was _terrified_.

 

As he lay there in the dark, staring at the wall of the hotel room, all Steve could think was ‘ _while there’s still something left to save’._

 

**July 9- Phoenix, AZ**

 

After another show, another great performance from a sober Bucky, Steve was in high spirits as he went to go see the singer in his dressing room. He wasn’t quite babysitting Bucky, but he tried to be around as much as possible, both for moral support and a look out. Overall things had been fine since they’d left the hospital, Bucky’s nightmares never bad enough to wake Steve, and Bucky being much more personable than in recent memory. But as Steve ambled down the hallway, taking the last turn before Bucky’s room, he froze, because someone he didn’t recognize was at the door. Knowing he was totally eavesdropping, but not really caring, Steve turned up his hearing aids to hear their conversation, wincing at the slight feedback.

 

The stranger handed Bucky a paper lunch bag. “Delivery, from Mr. Pierce.” The guy at the door looked like someone who had a mugshot, scruffy face and dark eyes and a smug mouth. Just the sight of him was enough to raise Steve’s hackles, let alone the fact that he was delivering suspicious packages to Bucky in the middle of the night from Pierce. Steve thought he knew what was in those packages, what the most likely explanation was, but he hoped to God that he was wrong. Bucky had seemed so well behaved the past few days- no violent mood swings, no highs before or directly after concerts, and no excessive pill popping, that anyone had seen. Steve had begun to hope. He could hear Bucky say “Thanks, Rumlow,” before ducking back in his room.

 

He should have known better, after all of this. Bucky wouldn’t be able to quit cold turkey, not without some serious guidance. As the guy turned and came back down the hallway, he spotted Steve and _winked_ , the asshole, strutting back down the hallway. Steve withdrew into the shadows, heart pounding. This wasn’t hard proof, at least nothing he could prove to others, but it was more evidence that pointed straight towards Pierce’s role in fueling Bucky’s addiction. It made Steve furious, but also he felt like pounding his head into the wall. What could he, a measly artist, do against someone as rich and powerful as Pierce? Especially without concrete proof? Sure, the other band members would believe him, but it was their word against Pierce, his lawyers, the PR team… it would be a goddamn field day.

 

Sliding down to sit on the floor, legs folded to his chest and back against the wall, Steve groaned to himself. The happy fantasy in which he’d been living in the past couple of days, where Bucky magically got better and saved himself, was rapidly deteriorating and Steve was no further along in finding some way to help. So now here he was, on some cold concrete floor, helpless, while Bucky was still getting drugs and encouragement with which to destroy his mind and body.

 

 _Fuck_.

 

 

**July 14- Los Angeles, CA**

 

The concert tonight was supposed to be booked absolutely full, Crimson Riot more popular than ever due to Bucky’s unfortunate absence and headlines and then the band’s subsequent comeback. All of the members were jazzed up, teasing and bickering and overall acting like children. It make Steve smile broadly, both to be involved in such a happy atmosphere and to see everyone recovering from the stress of Bucky’s overdose. Set up for the concert went well, though Steve now had made it a point to hang with Bucky as much as possible before a concert, just to make sure he didn’t… make any bad decisions.

 

Tonight he needn’t have worried, as Bucky was in a phenomenal mood, dropping kisses on Steve’s face or head every time he walked by, or doing loud, but skillful, vocal exercises with a wink and a smile. By the time the concert started, Steve was in the best mood he’d been in in weeks, and was anxious more than normal waiting for the music to start up. The band delivered everything and more, every song sounding perfect and sharp, their mood seemingly infectious to the crowd.

 

Half an hour into the concert, one of Steve’s favorites “[Tragedy + Time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L_veE_yBZ6M)” started, Natasha effortlessly picking out the beginning melody, Bucky and Wanda picking it up after a few eight counts as Clint began playing out the beat. The catchy melody and easy-to-follow rhythm made for easy audience enjoyment, and they really got into it as Bucky started banging his head, tilting his guitar up in the air to get them to join in. As he came up to the microphone to sing, his voice was smooth and low, earnest and almost begging in its quality. In the end, this song was about facing the darkest times and coming back alright out on the other side, and Steve couldn’t help but feel like he was being filled with effervescent bubbles, unable to stop himself from applying the lyrics to Bucky.

 

Steve sang along as the chorus came, closing his eyes as he listened to Bucky sing. He couldn’t see how the majority of the fans of Crimson Riot hadn’t been able to tell that something was wrong with Bucky. He was so vibrant, so powerful, so raw on stage- none of that had been there while he was taking drugs before the concerts. Now Steve- and the audience- could lose themselves in the music, and it sounded so much better and _real_ now that Bucky was truly singing it again.

_Nothing matters but the pain when you’re alone,_

_the never ending nights when you’re awake,_

_when you’re praying that tomorrow, it’s OK._

_There will be a time to crack another smile,_

_maybe not today or for a while,_

_but we’re holding on to laugh again someday,_

_to laugh again someday._

The way that Bucky held his notes, throat bared and face up to the sky, was breath-taking. He was nodding to the beat, bare chest rising smoothly as he sang, and Steve was sure he had never seen a more beautiful sight.

_All that matters is the time we had,_

_doesn’t matter how it all went bad._

_Never wonder what it might be like;_

_shut the door, say goodbye._

_When things grew tragically,_

_we come alive or come undone._

 

The audience ate it up, shouting the lyrics along with Bucky, pounding their feet and clapping in the emphatic silences between guitar riffs. Steve felt a smile creep unbidden across his face, watching Bucky show off as he jumped up and down while playing his guitar, before dramatically grabbing the microphone with both hands and leaning on it as he drew out the final words to the song. It was met with thunderous applause, Steve included, and Bucky gave a fleeting grin to the crowd before moving onto the next song.

 

All in all, the concert had gone splendidly, the large expo hall making for an enormous concert venue, and the audience had been the perfect blend of pumped up moshers and ecstatic music lovers. Bucky gave Steve a quick squeeze on the shoulder as he passed by on the way to his room, and Steve smiled in return, calling after him “Awesome job tonight, Buck!” Bucky turned around and walked backwards for a couple steps as he signed _Thank you_ , making Steve giggle. _‘Honestly, how much more high school can you get?’_ Steve chastised himself, before giving a whole body shake and turning to help start clean up.

 

Half an hour later, anything Steve could help with had been done, so he set off to find Bucky. His dressing room door was closed, but the light was on, so Steve knocked on it to be polite. Thirty seconds passed with no answer, and Steve knocked again, calling out Bucky’s name. Still no response. Half annoyed that Bucky wasn’t answering, half fearful as he remembered what had happened last time Bucky hadn’t responded, and maybe trying to use this as a test, Steve pushed open the dressing room door without warning. Bucky looked up from where he was standing at the counter, and it felt like deja vu from a month ago to Steve: tourniquet around his right arm, needle in his other hand, empty dime bag and a spoon and a lighter on the counter.... It was the same scene, different day, and Steve’s blood was instantly boiling. “Are you serious?” he asked, voice deadly quiet.

 

Shrugging, Bucky replied, “Not sure what you mean,” casual as can be. Maybe Bucky didn’t seem to grasp the severity of his situation, maybe he really didn’t care that much, maybe he was purposely acting callous... but Steve was ready to lose his goddamn _mind_. How could Bucky act like this? How could he throw everything away that he’d worked for- his music, his health, his _life_? He had literally almost died two weeks ago from doing this exact same thing. It was mind-boggling.

 

“For fuck’s sake, Bucky!” Steve shouted, fisting his hands in his hair. Bucky looked unrepentant, even a bit mutinous. Steve couldn’t believe this, only maybe he could. “I thought you’d maybe learned a lesson from the last coupla weeks.”

 

Bucky sighed harshly, dropping the needle in his hand into a pocket in his overnight bag. “Yea. What I learned is that I can’t fuckin’ sleep, goin’ all day without anythin’ is a way to drive me insane, and that I ain’t never gonna be right in the head again so what’s the _fuckin’_ point, Steve?” By the end Bucky was yelling, throwing things in the trash can viciously, aiming a kick at his chair.

 

Some of Steve’s anger tempered at that last statement. It especially hurt because Bucky had seemed so much better and happier over the past week. Everything had been going so well, Steve had gotten his carefree and cocky boyfriend back, or so he’d thought, and the band had been sounding better than ever. But now it was all falling apart, and Steve scrambled to gather the pieces. “Bucky, come on,” he started, reaching towards Bucky.

 

Backing away abruptly, Bucky spat, “Fuckin’ stop it, Steve, I ain’t some charity or a pity case.”

 

And there went Steve’s anger again, right back through the roof. Steve had always had a true Irish temper, lit at the slightest infraction, and Steve had now learned that when Bucky was using harder drugs, he was meaner than sin. “I ain’t treatin’ you like a goddamn charity case, Bucky, _shit_! I’m tryna help you ‘cause I don’t want you dead!” It was the same argument, over and over again, and Steve wanted to tear his hair out by the roots.

 

Bucky growled right back, “Again, what’s the fuckin’ point? Why should I care about how long I live if I have to deal with all’a this shit?” Steve couldn’t be sure, but there seemed to be a sudden sheen to Bucky’s eyes. “I tried, alright? I can’t fuckin’ sleep without downin’ a bunch of Xanax and Prozac and God knows what else, I need the cocaine to even make it through the stress of a show, it takes a shit ton of alcohol to even make me feel anything anymore...” He paced erratically, shoving his hands roughly through his hair. “Otherwise it’s nightmares every night, I still fuckin’ jump at any loud noise or sudden movement, my arm still hurts half the time-” He seemed to run out of steam, shoulders slumping as he turned and leaned against the wall. “I’m a fuckin’ broken mess, barely a person anymore. So I repeat, Steve,” and he finally made tired eye contact with Steve, pupils massively dilated but eyes shining with what Steve refused as of yet to think of as tears, “what’s the point?”

 

It felt like a hand had reached up and grabbed a hold of Steve’s neck, the lump in his throat making it hard to breathe or swallow. This is exactly why Bucky needed to talk to someone, to let this out and get it off of his own shoulders, to share his pain with someone. Steve would gladly be that someone, if only Bucky could open up to and trust him. “I... Bucky, I know you’re hurtin’, and we all care so, so much about you. What you’ve been through... it’s awful, and no one should haveta deal with that. Especially alone. But that’s why we’re here, to help you get through it.”

 

A bitter laugh sounded from Bucky, and he stood back up, fists clenched. “But you don’t hafta. Shouldn’t hafta. It’s my issues, my problems. Not your all’s. I don’t need help because I shouldn’t get it.”

 

“An’ what the fuck is that supposed ta mean?” Steve demanded.

 

Growling through his teeth, Bucky was back to pacing, and his mood swings were starting to scare Steve a bit. “‘Cause it’s my fuckin’ fault, all’a it. I’m the dumbass who wanted to become a famous musician, I’m the one who signed on with Pierce, I’m the one who started the drugs in the first place. Hell, ’s my fault I ended up like this,” he yelled, gesturing at his left arm, scarred under all of the tattoos, “I was supposed to be in charge of that last mission, and look how that turned out.” Bucky spun around on his heel, jabbing his pointer finger at Steve. “It’s all on me, so it ain’t your job or your business to take care’a me like that.”

 

And while it broke Steve’s heart to hear Bucky blame himself for all of those terrible things, things that were not his fault or were influenced by others, Steve fell back on his anger, like he always did. “Yea? Well when’re ya gonna get it through your thick fuckin’ head that we don’t care if it’s our job or our business to take care of ya? You’re our friend, our family, and we want to. If you died, Bucky...” Steve took a deep breath, studying Bucky’s rigid form before pressing on, “sure, the band would fail, ‘cause they probably wouldn’t be able to find no one to replace you. But it’s more’n that. Wanda would be heartbroken, you’re like an older brother to her. Clint and Natasha, god... they’d be crushed. You’re their best friend, and they’d blame it on themselves, you know they would.”

 

Steve was panting a bit when he finished, both the passion and volume of his speech leaving him wheezing a bit. Bucky looked a bit thrown off kilter, eyes wider than they had been a moment ago. Within a few moments, however, he recovered, sneering at Steve as he threw his next question like a barb, “And what about you, huh? You didn’t even know me ‘til two months ago, so what’s your excuse?”

 

The question, though expected, hurt Steve deeper than he would have thought. He winced, taking an involuntary step back. Hurt quickly gave way to anger again, and fury leached through him, white hot and raging like a wildfire. How could Bucky, after all Steve had tried to do for him, say something like that? Steve knew, somewhere under his rage, that Bucky, somewhere under the drugs, didn’t truly mean any of this. But Steve had had enough, couldn’t see past the red in his eyes and the pain in his chest that for once had nothing to do with his lungs. Clenching his jaw, he shot back, “Yea, but I’ve followed you since you began, for _years_ now. You kept me from killin’ myself so many times that I lost count. You and your music, your inspirational words to your fans, always kept me goin’, gave me some sorta hope. And since meetin’ you, it’s only been solidified, how much you mean to your fans, to me. I fell in love with you, somehow, some way in those two months, all while I had to watch you slowly destroy yourself. An’ I’m sorry, but I can’t do that anymore, Bucky.” His voice cracked on the word ‘do’, and Steve wiped surreptitiously at his cheeks as he turned away from Bucky.

 

Oh god, he’d said _he loved him_. Steve solidly refused to revisit what he’d just said, refused to even think about what he’d just let slip or the repercussions of it. He also refused to look at Bucky’s stunned face, his wide eyes, his shaking hands. He just stormed out the door, phone already in his hand to book a flight home.

 


	7. The Good Left Undone & The Black Market

**July 15 th\- Brooklyn, NY**

 

When Steve finally arrived at JFK Airport at 2:30 pm, he was physically and emotionally exhausted; spending the night in the airport hadn’t exactly been conducive to sleeping. He’d gotten the first available flight, leaving at 5:30 the next morning, but it hadn’t been direct, and so then he’d spent more time than he’d have liked sitting on the cramped plane. Not to mention he was still reeling from his fight with Bucky. He was still furious, yet now he was fighting against the guilt that threatened to engulf him after leaving his friend in such a state. Overall, he was incredibly glad when he walked into the terminal exit area and saw Sam and Peggy standing there waiting for him.

 

“Thanks for comin’ to get me, guys,” Steve said, voice and shoulders drooping with exhaustion.

 

Sam grinned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey, man, I figured that whatever made you leave your favorite band behind and come back to us nobodies musta been damn important.” Steve gave a tired chuckle, accepting the hug that Peggy pulled him into. “Anything for you, love,” she added, ruffling his hair as she pulled away. Sam then embraced Steve, and it was a testament to how tired Steve was that his eyes were already burning with tears at just seeing his friends again.

 

Stepping back, Steve sighed, readjusting his bags on his shoulders. “Let’s get outta here, guys. I can... I can explain later.” God, Steve really wasn’t looking forward to that, having to share his failure in saving Bucky and his endless frustration and sadness over the singer. Steve was worried that they’d think him pathetic for caring so much about someone he just met, or that he was a quitter, leaving when things got tough. Logically, Steve knew his friends would understand and support him. Emotionally, he was still a wreck.

 

The ride back in Sam’s car was only somewhat tense, Sam and Peggy keeping the conversation light by asking about the cities Steve had visited, and how it had been living on the bus. Steve responded carefully, filling the space with platitudes and shallow answers. When Sam brought up the fact that he hadn’t yet filled Steve’s room with another tenant, offering some excuse about not wanting to go through the trouble of writing up another Craigslist ad, Steve felt his throat close, and he simply nodded, blinking fast and hard. Peggy reached back and clasped his hand, as if she knew without looking that he was having trouble.

 

By the time they all got back to Sam’s apartment, Steve wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed and sleep for two days. But Sam and Peggy sat down in the living room, looking at him expectantly, and Steve exhaled sharply. He supposed, after they made the drive all the way out to get him without any explanation, that they deserved the story. Shifting on his feet, afraid to sit down lest he fall asleep, Steve leaned against the wall and told them about the new drugs, Bucky’s regression, and finally their last fight. It didn’t take long, but Steve felt his heart ache all over again as he retold it all.

 

Peggy whistled, saying, “Wow. That’s... that’s quite the story. I can’t believe he didn’t even try!” She didn’t sound angry, merely disbelieving, but Steve winced, biting back his immediate defense of Bucky; Peggy wasn’t wrong.

 

Nodding, Sam said, “Honestly, I think you did the right thing, Steve. Bucky is a complicated person, and you alone can’t help him. It’s not all up to you.”

 

And Steve knew it, everyone had told him that, even Bucky. But it still hurt to hear. “Yea, well, I still had to try,” he replied, voice cracking the tiniest bit. He could feel the dam straining, ready to burst, and God he hated crying in front of people.

 

Both Sam and Peggy frowned, and Peggy reached out to gently pull Steve towards the couch with them. “Steve, it’s okay. This happens to more people than you’d think. Bucky isn’t a bad man, and I’m sure that under all of it he cares very much about you. You tried, Steve, and it’s okay to leave to protect yourself.”

 

And that was it. Steve nodded, teeth digging into his lips, as the tears spilled over. “I just... I wanted him to be happy,” Steve choked out, tears flowing freely, “I wanted to save him.” Peggy and Sam hugged him, one on each side, surrounding him in warmth.

 

“I know, buddy, I know,” Sam murmured against his shoulder. “Sometimes, it’s not enough. He’s gotta want it, too. Right now, he’s not the kinda person you save.” Steve nodded, too distraught to argue, and let them hold him until his tears ran out and he fell asleep against Peggy’s side. For the first time in weeks he felt true, untainted peace, surrounded by his friends who he knew for sure loved him as much as he loved them.

**July 28 th **

 

Today was one of those days that Steve’s motivation to draw was at approximately zero, days that were now arriving more often than not. It was either that or, when he did draw, all of his drawings would start attaining familiar, too specific characteristics: long stringy hair here, a dimpled chin there. He would grunt in frustration before throwing out the drawing, and usually ended up getting nothing else productive done all day. Now Steve was aimlessly surfing the web, opening and closing social media sites for the fifth time each. Nothing new was popping up, and he was getting bored; he contemplated taking another nap. But as he pulled up Twitter again, a new notification caught his attention.

 

Crimson Riot had posted on their Twitter. Ignoring the way his heart jumped at that, Steve clicked on it, and it took him to their latest tweet, which read: “So sorry to all of our fans, but because of health issues we must cancel the European part of our tour. Lots of love.”

 

That part of the tour was only a week and a half away, and Steve couldn’t believe that the band had canceled six shows- the only shows that were off of the continent- with so little notice. But then again, he snorted as he slammed his laptop closed in abrupt irritation, Bucky had probably overdosed. _Again_. It would make sense; it was the only reason they’d ever cancelled this many shows at once before, and it was the exact same excuse they had used for Bucky’s first overdose, “health problems”. Had Bucky seriously done this to himself again?

 

Steve shoved down the instinctual worry that rose up for Bucky, smothering it in his anger. This was exactly why he had left, so that he wouldn’t be stuck in the middle of all of this unnecessary drama any more. It didn’t matter that Bucky had a firm hold on all of Steve’s heart strings, or that Steve felt the all-consuming need to take care of other people, or that Bucky was still drowning under the weight of his past- _fuck_. Shaking his head sharply, Steve groaned, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. It was obvious that he still cared about Bucky- who wouldn’t after learning what an amazing person he was, and seeing him try so hard to remain afloat? But Steve just... _couldn’t_. He couldn’t get involved with him again, couldn’t let this consume his life. It wasn’t his duty to take care of Bucky, or to make sure he was in line, or to try and heal him; Bucky was right when he had said that Steve wasn’t his caretaker.

 

With that, Steve decisively stood up from his desk, resisting the urge to pick up his phone and immediately call Natasha. While he was sure that she would know what was going on, he was less sure about what her reaction to him would even be. Would she pity him because of his need to escape? Would she hate him for abandoning Bucky? Would she think less of him because he couldn’t handle it? All of the options made his stomach churn, so he left his phone where it sat on his nightstand, refusing to even look at it. He’d get over it eventually.

 

 

**August 18 th**

Steve was getting anxious. It had been a month since he’d returned home, and he still hadn’t found work. Sam had refused to take any money for July, saying that Steve needed time to get back on his feet. “Besides,” Sam had said, affecting a smug air, “I’ve taken on more clients at work, so I’ve been able to manage the rent on my own, without any of your help!” Steve had grumbled, but as always was so grateful to have a friend like Sam Wilson. But now it was August, and Steve needed to pay utilities and rent, and he didn’t have a steady job. So far commissions, which were always hit or miss, had been lacking, and Steve was stuck. He was uninspired on his best days, downright lethargic on his worst, and the few places to which he’d applied hadn’t gotten back to him. But he had to come up with something, and he had to do it _fast_.

 

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he opened up his banking app, almost scared to see what his balance looked like; he hadn’t checked it in weeks for that exact reason. Sure, the band had paid him decently, but he’d still needed to buy some food and essentials while on the tour, and it wasn’t liked he’d been earning big bucks since he’d left them. Blowing out a breath he clicked on “Account Information”... only to furrow his brow in confusion. Since when did he have that much money? The first thought he had was that someone had hacked his account... yet who would do that only to leave _more_ money behind? Looking at his list of transactions, he saw that the last three deposits had been from Hydra Records, which was the company that owned Crimson Riot. Except... they were dated July 14 th, July 28th, and August 11th, which were all days _after_ he had left.

 

The band was still paying him? Even though he had gone home, and was no longer designing for them? He closed his app, mind whirling. Who had set this up and kept him on the payroll? His heart immediately went towards Bucky, his lingering sense of love insisting that Bucky had been the one to make sure that Steve was still taken care of. His brain fired back meanly with the fact that Bucky obviously didn’t care about him anymore, maybe he never had, and that it was most likely Natasha or Maria who had arranged this. It was probably because they felt bad for the way Bucky had yelled at Steve, or maybe they felt pity for Steve himself, since he was a pathetic, unemployed artist kid. The thought burned him, but not as much as the co-mingled shame and affection was burning his chest. Someone there, whoever it was, still cared about him, and it still hurt his heart to think about all that he had left behind. Not just Bucky, but dear friends, all of them.

 

When he presented Sam with a check, enough for both August and September’s rents, Sam raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t ask. Steve appreciated it, simply clasping him on the shoulder before heading out the door. He had art supplies to replenish and groceries on which to splurge, and despite how much he missed the band members and their own strange brand of friendship, Steve felt lighter than he had in weeks.

**September 14 th **

 

Life went on. Steve liked to think that he was getting over his crush and the unfortunate way that it had all ended. At least, that’s what he told himself when he cut back his Twitter checks to twice a day instead of five, and only watched YouTube recordings of concerts a couple times each instead of all night. Of course, that didn’t stop his friends from getting in his business about it, always asking if Steve had seen the latest news about Crimson Riot. It was endearing, but also irritating, as Steve was still trying to distance himself from it all.

 

“Uh, Steve, you might wanna see this….” Sam called from the kitchenette. Steve huffed as he stood up from the couch and walked over to their tiny table. “Peggy sent me this link, but I think she wanted me to show it to you, too,” he continued, his tone of voice making Steve furrow his brow. Knowing them, it was most likely another concert video, or an interview Bucky had done with someone. All things that Steve probably had already seen, though his friends didn’t need to know just how pathetic Steve still was.

 

But Sam’s tone worried Steve- he sounded shocked, apprehensive, and a bit… sad? The absence of the teasing and heckling that usually came with new footage of Bucky set Steve on edge. “What is it?” Steve demanded when Sam still didn’t show anything, attempting to smooth his own ruffled edges. “I swear, if it’s another supercut of Bucky singing Allstar-”

 

Sam shook his head sharply, interrupting, “Nah, man. This is… this is important.” Steve swallowed- ‘cause that _definitely_ made him feel better. Leaning forward to see Sam’s phone, Steve raised an eyebrow as he saw it was another concert video. He looked back at Sam, who glared and pointed violently back to the screen. Steve rolled his eyes, refocusing his attention.

 

The video must have been from the concert earlier tonight in Canada, since Steve hadn’t seen it yet. It was the band’s first concert since their “health problem”, if Steve was remembering correctly. On the screen, Bucky was speaking up on the stage. He looked well, and Steve was pleased, deep down, that Bucky didn’t look high at this concert. “This song is dedicated… to someone I hurt. I pushed them away, gave them no choice, and they left, as was their choice. But if you’re watchin’ this, I wanted to say… I’m sorry. I know that I messed up, but I’m workin’ on it, workin’ on myself, and… I miss you.”

 

Steve could hear a distinct _Awww_ from the audience, before Clint counted out a beat with his drumsticks, the band launching into “[The Good Left Undone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=70hIRnj9kf8)". Steve could feel Sam’s eyes on him, gaze calculating yet soft, but Steve couldn’t take his eyes off of the screen. This… this was _Bucky_ on screen, sober and pure, singing with the raw emotion that had been so hit or miss right before Steve had left. He belted out the lyrics, emotions clearly visible on his face, his addictive presence putting the crowd in a frenzy.

 

_But I know_

_not a day goes by when I don’t feel it’s wrong._

_There’s a point we’ve passed in which we can’t return,_

_I’ve felt the cold rain of the coming storm._

His voice drew Steve in, strong and confident, making it sound pleading without even changing its pitch. The song was rolling yet harsh, and Bucky stomped his booted feet in time, practically yelling the lyrics.

_All because of you,_

_all because of you,_

_all because of you,_

_I haven’t slept in so long._

_When I do, I dream_

_of drowning in the ocean,_

_longing for the shore_

_where I can lay my head down_

_inside these arms of yours._

Sam was still staring at Steve, dissecting his reaction. Steve didn’t respond, just kept watching the tiny screen. There was no way to be sure that Bucky was talking about him. He could’ve hurt anybody… he could be talking about anyone from his past… it didn’t mean….

_All because of you,_

_I believe in angels._

_Not the kind with wings,_

_no, not the kind with halos._

_The kind that bring you home_

_when home becomes a strange place._

_I’ll follow your voice,_

_all you have to do_

_is shout it out._

Bucky drew out the last words, head tilted to the sky and hands reaching out to the sides, the guitars fading into feedback, and then the video cut out. Taking in a breath for what felt like the first time in almost five minutes, Steve shoved his hands through his hair. “So… wanna talk about that?” Sam prompted, not unkindly. Steve didn’t respond. He felt like his heart was being stuck in a vice, and his lungs were being compressed along with it. It was… heady, to (maybe) be the subject of such a powerful, emotional song.

 

Bucky _missed_ him? He was _sorry_? He was _working on it_? Steve shook his head, both in response to Sam and in reaction to the video. “I… there’s no way to be sure he was talkin’ about me,” Steve protested, and Sam snorted. “‘sides, I left, and for good reason. This ain’t enough reason to go runnin’ back…” Steve didn’t say _back into his arms_ , but he was pretty sure Sam could hear it anyway.

 

“Steve…” Sam started, “I know he messed up. Addiction… it’s hard, man. We all know that. But he kind of put you through the wringer.” Sam squeezed Steve’s shoulder, grounding the blond slightly.

 

Steve sighed. Sam had been so supportive when Steve had left, was the one who had told him that he needed the space to begin with. In fact, sometimes Steve thought that Sam really didn’t like Bucky because of “what he’d put Steve through”, which just wasn’t fair because Sam didn’t _know_ Bucky. But the video… it managed to bring back every soft feeling that Steve still had for Bucky. Which was a lot of them. “I dunno, Sam….” Steve said, shrugging. “It’s a lot to deal with.”

 

Nodding, Sam replied, “Yea, yea it is, and you don’t have to make a decision right now. But… there’s just no guarantee that what he said is true. It might not be a good idea for you to actually contact him. I mean…” He paused, a sheepish look coming on to his face. “I’m sorry. I know he’s your friend, and whatever you decide to do, you know I’ll be right there with you, yea?”

 

With a grin at his roommate, Steve patted the hand on his shoulder. “Thanks, Sam. I’ll… I’ll think about it. But don’t get your hopes up just yet for a fairytale wedding.” Sam _psh_ ed, already sputtering denials as Steve laughed and stood up from the couch. “Alright, I’m gonna go to bed. Thanks, Sam.” Sam wished him goodnight with a smile, and Steve went up to his room, fully intent on going to sleep. But, if he first looked up the band’s schedule to see when the next time they’d be in New York was, no one had to know.

 

 

**September 27 th\- Niagara Falls, NY**

Sam was very vocal with his misgivings about Steve going to this show. First he had said that it was about the drive, which would take a few hours, at least. Then it had been about the weather, since it _might rain, Steve, and you shouldn’t be on that damn bike in the rain_. Finally had come the reason Steve had been waiting for.

 

“I think it’s a bad idea Steve. You shouldn’t try and see Bucky, not until he’s proven that he’s changed,” Sam had declared in their living room, hands on his hips.

 

Steve sighed. He knew Sam meant well, and was only looking after Steve and his too-big-heart. But the constant haranguing had been irritating and smothering, especially once Sam had gotten Peggy and Angie in on it, too. The three of them had tried to convince Steve not to go, but Steve hadn’t budged. He wasn’t going for Bucky, anyway, and he needed to get out of the apartment. He had told his friends as much- well, kind of yelled it at them- and while they had given him disapproving looks, the cajoling had finally stopped, just days before the show.

Steve definitely wasn’t going to the concert with the intention of forgiving Bucky. He had told himself that he was coming here because he never missed a New York show, and even though he’d seen plenty of concerts this past summer, he was now ready to go to another one. Steve had told himself that it had nothing to do with seeing Bucky again, and that he wouldn’t even watch him that much up on stage, let alone try and talk to him. Tonight was just about the music, not the musician, and Steve went into the concert determined to lose himself in the crowd mindset and absolutely _not_ think about what he had left behind.

 

All that flew out of Steve’s mind as Bucky started to sing “[The Black Market](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eMC1OIMaEE8)” three quarters of the way through the concert. Steve had never been particularly attached to the song; he appreciated it more for the catchy chords and melodies rather than the lyrics. But Bucky, his presence so reserved yet hopeful, singing plaintively about stained souls and damned people, managed to tug at every single heart string that Steve had been resolutely ignoring for the past forty-five minutes. But during this song, for whatever reason, Bucky was going all out. And once he got to the chorus, sinking down to his knees and forgoing his guitar in favor of gripping onto the microphone for dear life, Steve felt his breath catch.

_I’m falling on my knees right now,_

_I’m covered in the mess I made._

_These colors used to wash right out_

_but now they are a part of me._

_And I’ve been searching for a remedy,_

_when all along it’s been in front of me._

_I need you here, I need you now,_

_right now._

_We traffic in the blackest of markets,_

_trade misery like diamonds and gold._

_The angst that we exchange for applause or petty praise_

_is finally now taking its toll._

The words resonated with Steve like never before. Maybe they had just never been applicable to Steve’s life before, or he had just never considered their meaning, but the lyrics tonight just seemed to hook around his insides and _yank_. Steve was sure that he looked like an idiot, standing stock still in the mosh pit, staring up at Bucky with his mouth hanging open as the singer stood back up to play his guitar again. But Bucky looked so open, so vulnerable and soft, that Steve wasn’t so sure any more about his iron-clad decision not to try and see him. His time to make a decision was running out, as the concert was drawing to its end. However, after the final song, something unusual happened, making Steve tilt his head- Bucky started talking to the audience.

 

“Thank you for a fuckin’ amazing show, Niagara Falls!” he cried, pausing for the screams and cheers from the audience. “My name is Bucky Barnes, and I got a message for you. This summer, we canceled several shows in a row, twice, for quote-end-quote ‘health reasons’. Well, it’s time to come clean. The first time it happened, back in July, was ‘cause I overdosed, on a mix of crack, MDMA, an’ prescription pills.” The whole theater had fallen so silent that you could’ve heard a pin drop. Steve’s jaw dropped, his heart thudding unevenly in pure shock that Bucky would admit such a thing publicly. “The second time, earlier this month, was ‘cause I finally grew up and spent some time in rehab.” Now Steve’s lungs weren’t cooperating, making noises like rusty door hinges. This couldn’t actually be happening… could it? But up on stage, Bucky continued his speech, grabbing the microphone and walking to the edge of the stage.

 

“My message is this: no matter how bad it gets, no matter how awful you feel, no matter how good the coping mechanisms seems… it ain’t worth it. Get help, talk to someone, hell, write all that shit down in a journal. It’s hard to see what it does to those around ya, how it hurts both you and your loved ones, an’ it takes somethin’ horrible- like almost dyin’, or losin’ someone you care about- to make you realize that.” He paused, and Steve could see his hands shaking around the microphone. “I’ve been sober now for sixty eight days, the longest time in four years, and trust me- it’ll get better. Just stay strong, get help, and go on livin’. Don’t keep it all inside. If not for me, or for yourself, do it for your family, your partner, even your pet. Good night, Niagara Falls.”

 

With that Bucky replaced the mic and stepped back, only to be met with absolutely thunderous applause. He seemed startled by the noise, but his band behind him were all smiling and nodding in approval, the crowd was screaming and shouting their love, and Steve felt like the world had tilted on its axis. Crimson Riot filtered off of the stage, waving and smiling and blowing kisses at the crowd- who were still shouting and clapping- and Steve was still frozen still. Was Bucky telling the truth? Had he gotten himself clean? He hadn’t seemed high, just nervous, and it seemed like a huge thing to lie about to the whole world. But Steve _had_ to know.

 

He immediately started pushing through the couple of rows in front of him, and he was breathless by the time he reached the security gate. Luckily Thor, one of the largest and friendliest security members the band had, and one with whom Steve had chatted more than once, was the one closest to Steve. “Steven!” Thor shouted, grasping and shaking the smaller man’s shoulder. “How did you enjoy the show?”

 

“It was great,” Steve replied automatically. “I need to get back there to see Bucky.”

 

Thor frowned, looking genuinely apologetic. “You are not technically supposed to, since you’re simply here as a concert-goer tonight….”

 

Steve grabbed Thor’s huge arm, desperation coming through in his voice. “Thor, _please_. You know me, I ain’t just some crazy fanboy. It’s seriously important, I _have_ to talk to Bucky.”

 

Thor stared at him for a few more seconds. “Alright, Steve,” he conceded, a small smile on his bearded face. “Just know that if I get into trouble, it is you who I will blame.” He shifted aside a portion of the security gate, allowing Steve to slip through.

 

“That’s fine!” Steve called back over his shoulder, already running past the stage to find the dressing rooms. He thought he passed Clint on the way, but didn’t stop to chat. That could all come later. What mattered was getting to Bucky, to see if everything he had said was true. If it was… well, Steve could decide what to do about that later.

 

Eventually he arrived at Bucky’s door, gulping due to both nervousness and lack of air. Knocking heavily on the door, ignoring how his heart was pounding just as hard, he bounced on his toes as he waited for Bucky to answer. After an agonizing moment the singer pulled open the door, freezing with his mouth hanging open at the sight of Steve, who had likewise frozen still. Bucky looked… shit, he looked rested and fit and downright _glowing_. Steve swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his eyes off of Bucky’s shirtless chest. After what felt like an eternity, Bucky said, “Um… come in?”

 

Steve nodded with wide eyes, and followed Bucky into the room, Bucky closing the door behind him. It all looked the same, Bucky’s messy habit of throwing bags around the room evident. The tension was palpable in the small space, and Steve felt like he was choking on it. Leaning as casually as he could against the counter, Bucky doing the same on the opposite wall, Steve said, “So….” Bucky made brief eye contact with Steve, lip firmly between his teeth. “That was… quite the speech,” Steve said woodenly, not sure he could properly explain his emotions, or why he was here.

 

Bucky nodded, inhaling slowly, thoughtful. “I thought you might be at this show, so I wanted ta tell everyone... well, mostly you... that ‘m clean now. Have been for over two months.” Bucky’s voice was soft, gone was all of the manic energy and quick irritation that Steve had come to know as normal. His hair looked clean and soft, if not a bit sweaty, drifting around his face. His eyes were clear and bright, his lips hooking up in a bit of a smirk. Overall, he looked amazingly healthy, and Steve almost couldn’t believe that this was the same person from almost three months ago.

 

Swallowing, Steve said, “I... Bucky, you look... you look great.” Shaking his head at what a stupid sentence that was, Steve tried again. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, uh, you do look, ya know, good, but I... um... I didn’t believe you, at first.” He then winced at himself, because that was probably almost worse than his first attempt at speaking.

 

Bucky didn’t seem offended, just chuckled quietly and ran a hand through his hair. “‘s okay. I wouldn’t’a believed me either. But it’s true.” He nodded to himself, eyes on the floor. “After you left, uh... I took it hard. Blamed myself for everythin’- which was justified, don’t gimme that look- and kinda... slipped again. Went back to gettin’ high before shows, an’ I blacked out a couple nights a week after ‘em. Tasha...” he sighed, shrugging slightly, “she basically kicked my ass. Came in here, started yellin’ at me ‘bout how this wasn’t me, that I needed to get off my ass, warned me that the drugs had already cost me you and that my music was probably next.”

 

Steve frowned, prickly heat building behind his eyes. “Bucky, I didn’t-”

 

“No, Steve,” Bucky cut him off, hand slicing through the air, “I know what I did. Well, I know now.” He glanced up at Steve, gaze soft and so full of unreadable emotions, eyes skittering away again. “After that, I, um, I realized what a fuck up I became, an’ I signed up for a rehab program. Nothin’ too fancy, or anythin’ long term, it was just a month in a small facility upstate. That way I could be near home, an’ didn’t have to deal with any paparazzi.” Steve nodded when Bucky paused and looked up at him again, encouraging the brunet to continue. “I started that at the end’a July, an’ I made it through the whole month. I even started goin’ back to therapy, twice a week, for both the drugs and the... the PTSD.”

 

Bucky looked so small, even with his broad shoulders and glistening chest on display, hanging his head and hunching in on himself. Heart in his throat, Steve itched to close the distance between them and wrap Bucky in a hug, but didn’t dare to. “That’s... that’s so amazing, Buck. ‘m proud of ya,” he choked out, trying to maintain his cool and failing. This was everything he had been hoping for, everything he had been pushing Bucky towards. The fact that Bucky had finally found the courage to seek help… it meant everything to Steve.

 

Wearing a frown, Bucky looked up at him, and whatever Steve must have been showing on his face made Bucky flush. “Yea, well, shoulda done it a long time ago,” Bucky mumbled, drumming his fingers on his arm. “But, uh, I was tellin’ the truth out there. Today marks day 68 of bein’ sober, not even any alcohol. It’s the longest I’ve gone without doin’ anythin’ since we first signed on,” he went on, sounding not unlike a kid bashfully telling his parents about his science fair prize.

 

Steve felt tears threatening to fall, and he ground out, “God, Bucky, _you’re_ so amazing.” It was embarrassing how quickly Steve was falling apart just by hearing Bucky talk about this, but he figured he had earned this, goddamnit, after stressing over Bucky for almost half a year at this point. He surreptitiously wiped at his eyes, swallowing thickly. Bucky probably didn’t want any pity, or a sob fest, and Steve needed to be more put together for this conversation, no matter how overwhelmed he was feeling. Remembering something he needed to know, Steve asked roughly, “And the paychecks? Who kept me on the payroll?”

 

Bucky shifted his weight, a fleeting, nervous grin crossing his lips. “That was me. I couldn’t just leave you with nothin’, could I, after all you’d done for me?” Steve had no answer to that, other than a laugh that was closer to a sob, and simply nodded.

 

Shuffling his feet again, inclining his head towards Steve, Bucky went on, “At therapy, they’re always talkin’ to us ‘bout communication, and makin’ sure we vocalize our feelings an’ shit.” Bucky made a face at that, expressing just how much he disliked it. Steve wanted to giggle, but waited to see where Bucky was going with this. The singer took a deep breath before continuing, “They also said an important part of recovery is ownin’ up to your mistakes.”

 

Taking another deep breath, Bucky came closer to Steve, slowly reaching out to hold onto Steve’s upper arms. “Steve... ‘m sorry I hurt you. I made you worry, I disregarded your feelings and advice, an’ I yelled at you- so many times- when you were just tryin’ to help. I know this now. And... I can’t apologize enough.” He closed his eyes, as if to hide from his words. “And... an’ I know that you _left_ \- I understand why, and honestly if you were anyone else you woulda done it earlier- but... but if you wanted to, I’d like for you to come back.”

 

Bucky wanted him _back_? Steve’s immediate reply was an emphatic _YES!_ , but he knew that he needed to think this through. Unsure of what exactly he was feeling- some mix of apprehension, euphoria, love, and trepidation- Steve blinked dazedly. The heat from Bucky’s hands sank addictingly into his skin, making it hard to think. “Um...” he started, staring at Bucky’s face, which was half hidden by his hair. “Come back… as what?” It probably shouldn’t have been the first thing he asked, but Steve _had_ to know. What did Bucky see him as now?

 

Wincing slightly, Bucky opened his eyes, but kept his gaze somewhere on Steve’s torso. “What- whatever you’d like. As my designer, as a groupie, as... as my boyfriend....” He trailed off, his last words almost inaudible, and Steve just blinked at him, feeling like his stomach had leapt out of his body. It wasn’t a totally unpleasant feeling. Bucky, who was becoming increasingly nervous with the lack of response, started babbling. “I- I know I’m a handful. And that I’m an addict, and a wounded vet, and there’s always gonna be hard times. I understand completely if you don’t want nothin’ to do with me. I ain’t gonna lie, it’ll hurt, but I won’t try an’ convince you. But... but you’re important to me, and I want you-”

 

Steve interrupted him by surging forward and crashing his lips onto Bucky’s, sending the taller man rocking back on his heels. Bucky immediately brought his arms up around Steve, pulling them tightly together. A small whine left one of their throats, Steve didn’t know whose, and they kissed heatedly for a moment. Bucky pulled back to breathe, asking, “So... is that a yes?”

 

Chuckling tearfully, Steve replied, “ _Yes_ , dumbass.” Clearing his throat and shifting back so that he could look Bucky in the eye, he said, “I really am proud of ya, Buck. It may have taken a bit, but you got the help you needed, and you’re workin’ on healin’, which is the best thing you could do for yourself. I… I’m sorry for leavin’.” He waved off Bucky’s instant denial, explaining, “I felt like I abandoned you, and I’m sorry it got worse for you after I left. But… it wasn’t healthy for me either, ya know?” Bucky nodded, looking ashamed, and Steve couldn’t resist reaching up to kiss him again.

 

When they next came apart, foreheads resting against one another’s, Bucky murmured, so quiet that Steve almost missed it even with his hearing aids in, “I love you, Stevie.” His eyes remained closed, but they tightened, his lips thinning, as if he hadn’t meant to say that.

 

An electric charge ran up Steve’s body, lightning reaching all the way to his fingertips. He wasn’t sure if he was meant to hear that or not, but it still made him feel like his blood was singing, from his head down to his feet. Surging forward, he kissed Bucky again, hot and desperate, practically melding their bodies together. “I love you too, jerk,” he said breathlessly when he came up for air.

 

Bucky simply smiled, replied, “Punk”, and cradled Steve’s head to pull him closer again. Their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, and a part of Steve felt whole again, like he had just been waiting to come back to Bucky.


	8. Blood Red, White, and Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, that's all she wrote, folks! Don't forget to leave kudos or comments to let me know how you liked it :) Thanks for reading!
> 
> Subscribe to the Crimson Riot series, because I'll be posting short bits of the band being dorks together, or Bucky and Steve being fluffy and/or smutty.

**October 6 th\- Asbury Park, NJ**

Life, as difficult as it had been to believe at one point, did go on.

 

Now that Bucky was healthy and recovering, Steve’s and his relationship was reaching new levels. Steve was now able to get to know the real Bucky, without the haze of drugs or the all-consuming nature of addiction. They went on dates when they could during the day, went back ot sharing hotel rooms, and generally made the rest of the band groan endlessly. Bucky made a point to be more honest and open, both about his past and about his state of mind. Steve in turn attempted to be the best listener he could, and smother Bucky less- the singer’s own words.

 

It wasn’t all easy. The addiction didn’t just disappear, and Bucky suffered from horrifically strong cravings and subsequent terrible anxiety attacks. Even though he was in therapy for it, the PTSD still had Bucky within its grip, and claustrophobic spaces, hospitals, and loud unexpected noises still made the singer panic. Bucky still woke up every couple of nights trembling and heaving for breath, and one memorable night couldn’t remember where or when he was for upwards of twenty minutes. Usually Steve was there every night to comfort Bucky, but after that episode Steve had lay shivering in Bucky’s arms for hours.

 

In Bucky’s worst days, when he was shaking all over with the need for drugs, panting and sweating, Bucky would tell Steve to leave, that Bucky wasn’t worth all of this. He insisted that Steve could do better, that Bucky would never be “fixed” again. Steve was quick to dispel those thoughts, sometimes needing to almost yell at Bucky to get him to believe in Steve’s love, even if only long enough for the musician to calm down. But the two were a team, and worked together, and every small step was still progress, in Steve’s eyes.

 

None of them had known what to do about Pierce. Bucky had finally made it very clear how much Pierce pushed on him; years of manipulation, coercion, and subtle threats were not going to disappear overnight. Clint had looked absolutely murderous, while Wanda and Natasha looked so dangerously calm that Steve had to ease away from them. The band still had four years left on their contract, so they couldn’t leave Hydra Records without a huge legal battle.

 

“It’s fine,” Bucky had insisted, jaw tight, “I’ll deal with Pierce, it ain’t worth ruinin’ our label. It ain’t your all’s problem.”

 

It had been met, as expected, with surprise and derision. “Fat chance of that,” Clint had snorted, while Steve had heaved a put-upon sigh- he and Bucky had had this argument at least twice a day since he’d come back. The singer had been abstinent that he could deal with whatever Pierce threw his way, since Bucky was still convinced that all of his was his fault to begin with. Steve would have to work hard to disavow him of that notion.

 

The situation had looked pretty helpless for about five days, before Steve had had an epiphany. Well, less an epiphany, more of a ‘he had sat bolt upright while Bucky had been giving him a stellar blowjob and yelled, “Oh shit!”’ moment. Bucky had been confused, and maybe a bit insulted, at first, but once Steve had explained what his idea had been, Bucky had made his gratitude very evident when he had gone back to work on Steve.

 

Steve had, through serious connections and a huge stroke of luck done some designing years ago for Stark Industry Records. Tony Stark had, apparently, been “so damn shocked” at what Steve could do that he had come down from his penthouse, declared Steve “an acquaintance”, and collected the artist. Years later, Tony would still occasionally contact Steve for the most random, obnoxious reasons, though Steve had never actually done any more work for the manic company owner. Steve, for some reason, could never bring himself to delete Tony’s number, and then he had been infinitely glad that he hadn’t. Steve had called him that very night, and the conversation had gone something like this:

 

“Stevie Wonder, I’m a busy man, what can I do for ya?” was what had greeted Steve when he called.

 

“Hey, Tony. Hope you’re doin’ well. I was actually wonderin’ if you could maybe help my friend out.”

 

“Hmm… this friend doesn’t happen to be Crimson Riot lead singer James Barnes, does he?” Tony had posed, various background noises sounding through the line.

 

Steve had paused, frowning. “…You know, I don’t even wanna know how or why you know that.”

 

“I know everything, I keep telling you that. What does Bucky Bear need?”

 

“I’m sure you… heard the news about him?” Steve had asked hesitantly.

 

“Eh, who hasn’t done their time in the therapy and rehab circuit? Does he need a recommendation?”

 

“No, no, just… his contract with Hydra Records ain’t up for another four years. But Alexander Pierce, his manager, was the one who hooked Bucky and was givin’ him the drugs. I gotta get Crimson Riot a new company label,” Steve had explained.

 

“Wow, dick move. Knew I hated that guy. Say no more, Steven, I’ll set my lovely Pepper on it A. S. A. P.” Then he’d hung up.

 

And, true to his word, the very next day the band had received a call from the one and only Pepper Potts, and their label had been changed, effective immediately. Clint had high-fived Steve, Wanda had kissed his cheeks, Natasha had put him in an affectionate headlock, and Bucky had shown more gratitude the way he knew best- behind a closed bedroom door.

 

It didn’t hurt that in addition, somehow, _someone_ had leaked every bit of negative news, confirmed every bad rumor or hear-say, and pressed many charges, all against one Alexander Pierce. The evidence was still being examined, the trial hadn’t happened yet, but the band didn’t care. That night had been one of celebrating, drinking, and joy. Steve had done a toast to Tony Stark, and drank extra in his honor.

Tonight was the last show, though Steve was incredibly bitter that it was in _New Jersey_ , of all godforsaken places. Bucky had scoffed and rolled his eyes, but Steve knew that Bucky agreed with him, a Brooklyn boy to the core.

 

All of the concerts that Steve had gone to since coming back felt just as exhilarating as his very first Crimson Riot concert all those years ago. He was floating on a new kind of high, he and Bucky in a bubble of love, the other band members barraging them with friendly teasing. It was bittersweet, their months of touring coming to an end, but Steve knew that everyone would be glad for the break. Clint and Natasha were going some far away and undisclosed place for a month or two, and Wanda and her brother Pietro were going to visit their distant family in Sokovia.

 

Steve, well, Steve planned to go wherever Bucky went, after going back to Brooklyn to see his friends. Maybe he would take Bucky with him- he wanted his oldest friends to meet his boyfriend. Steve wasn’t sure yet what Bucky’s plans were, or if he was even included in those plans, but he would figure it out. Steve had basically forced Sam to rent out the extra room to someone else, not wanting his friend to lose any more money on Steve’s account, so he hoped that Bucky wasn’t tired of him just yet.

 

But all of that could wait until tomorrow, because tonight they had a show to do. The set-up was filled with a hectic, happy buzz, as this was the last time the work would have to be done for months. The crew and the band were all in happy spirits- even Maria was smiling more than usual- and Steve thought he could physically feel his excitement bubbling in his veins. He spent the time before the concert in Bucky’s dressing room, attempting to not get distracted by his boyfriends silky hair, gorgeous tattoos, lean muscles, shiny piercings…. Steve would still fully blame Bucky for them almost being late for the band’s call time.

 

The concert was, in Steve’s opinion, one of the best in the entire tour. The crowd was enthusiastic and loving, the set-up of the venue was perfect, and every song came out just right. Bucky danced around the front of the stage, climbed up on the security gates to give out high fives and fist bumps, and threw his all into the music. Natasha looked the happiest she ever had, while Clint and Wanda couldn’t stop smiling. All in all, it was everything Steve could have asked for.

 

Steve found himself swept up in particular when Bucky started strumming the opening melody to “[Blood Red, White, and Blue](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OUAzIO9fqP8)”. His voice, harsh and rough after an hour of singing, struck out at the microphone like a whip. He was challenging and demanding, a pillar of strength so unlike the man Steve saw three months ago. Steve sung along, filled with love for this incredible man that he had had the good luck to meet, and couldn’t help but feel six feet tall and invincible in that moment.

_A new problem we cannot stop them,_

_we're outnumbered and uncautioned,_

_a rally cry rings out into the night._

_So pride yourself on what you are,_

_and hold them all to words they can't take back._

_I've seen a place (it comes) to me in dreams_

_where fires die but light still shines for us to see_

 

Steve knew his neck and back would be sore from the amount of thrashing he was doing, but the band was on point tonight, finishing their year with a bang. The words filling Steve’s chest with a light, fluttering feeling, and Steve felt like he could float. It made his arms tremble and goosebumps rise on his arm, and he felt giddy with all of the energy. The song was empowering and full of pride, and was the perfect song to encapsulate everything that Steve saw in the band, in Bucky.

 

The song drew to its end, the band took their bows, hamming it up for the crowd. They then left the stage, the audience still screaming and chanting the band’s name, for just a couple minutes to recover and drink some water. Bucky dropped a quick kiss on Steve’s head, making the blonde grin and blush. The singer simply winked at him as he strutted back to the stage, guitar in hand. The encore was fast and energetic, as if the band was making sure that this was the finale to end all finales. As the last chord faded out, Bucky shouted into his mic, “Thank you, all of you, for the best tour ever! We have been Crimson Riot- _goodnight Ashbury!_ ” The audience lost their minds, screaming and cheering all over again, and every band member left the stage with huge smiles on their face.

 

And with that, the tour was over.

 

It had been the busiest, weirdest, and hardest four months of Steve’s life. He had never traveled so much, slept so little comparatively, or worked that much ever before. That wasn’t even taking into consideration the mental and emotional strain of Bucky’s whole journey. And, while it definitely hadn’t been planned for, falling in love was its own kind of exhausting.

 

However, he wouldn’t trade it for the world, Steve thought as Bucky made a beeline for him as he exited the stage. Before he even reached the blonde, Steve jogged toward him, hands wrapping over Bucky’s shoulders to drag him right up against Steve, kissing him for all he was worth. Bucky pulled back after a moment, leaning down to press his forehead to Steve’s. “’m all sweaty,” he protested, though Steve knew it was for show. The adrenaline rush they both got after concerts usually led to some fantastic, aggressive sex, about which they had already received various complaints from the other band members. But the couple couldn’t find it in themselves to care.

 

“Well,” Steve whispered, standing on tip-toe to reach Bucky’s ear, “it’s not like we ain’t gonna be gettin’ sweaty all over again at the hotel tonight, so I don’t mind it.” When he pulled back, Bucky’s eyes were alight, with lust and love and a thousand other things Steve couldn’t name. He leaned in to kiss Steve again, but this time it was gentler, softer, less desperate and more savoring. Steve could feel his weak heart skip a beat or three, and he knew without a doubt that he would do this all over again, every beautiful and awful moment, if this was where he ended up. No, he wouldn’t trade these times for the world, and right now, life couldn’t be more perfect.

* * *

 

_And the wildfire is spreading farther,  
from sea to shining sea._

 

 _When we're all just ghosts,_  
and the madness overtakes us,  
I will scream to the sky,

 _yeah I'll scream to the sky,_  
yeah I'll scream to the sky;  
"Hey, people live here."

 


End file.
